


Lost Trinkets

by Rhiannon87



Category: Uncharted
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 43,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and short scenes throughout the Uncharted canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrendered to the state

**Author's Note:**

> It's a line in a file: "Surrendered to the state by father at age five."  
> Trigger warnings for discussion of suicide and child abandonment.

“You're sure about this?”

The social worker's judging him. It's plain to see; the way she narrows her eyes at him, her lips pressed together as she glances back and forth between him and his son.

No. Not his son. Not anymore.

“I signed it, didn't I?” He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets.

The woman sighs and glances at Nathan. He's trying not to look, but he can see the kid anyway; an unruly mop of light brown hair and Rose's clear grey-green eyes peering up at him. And he can't do it, he can't keep looking at him, this tiny mirror image of his wife. She's dead, she's dead and she left them both, and he can't keep caring for her son. Not when it's a knife to the chest every time he looks at the boy.

“Very well then.” The woman shakes her head. “We'll make sure he's taken care of.”

“Thanks.” He turns away from the desk, shoulders hunched, bracing himself for what he knows is coming.

“Daddy?”

Goddammit, why couldn't the woman have a private office with a door he could close? All these fucking desks out in the open, and he has to walk thirty feet to the damn door.

“Daddy!”

She's probably letting Nathan scream on purpose. Hoping he'll change his mind. Like he hasn't already spent enough sleepless nights listening to the boy sob and cry for his mother. This is nothing new. Just a different word.

“Daddy, no! Daddy!”

They'll take care of Nathan. Better than he ever could, without Rose. He shoulders the door open and storms towards the front of the building. The door slowly closes, cutting off the screaming sobs from the other side, and he lets out a relieved breath. Time to get the hell out of this town.


	2. Sentimental value

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Nate first meets Sully, he has an expensive watch hooked to his belt. One theory on where he got it, why he kept it, and what happened to it. (Apologies for the butchered Spanish.)
> 
> Edited 02/04/13: thanks to Caryl (starshone) for helping un-butcher the Spanish.

The only time Sully asks about the watch is two days after they've met. Sully, having rather spectacularly lost his meal ticket, has been trying to find new work, something quick and low-key and with decent enough pay to get them out of town. They're both still wary around each other, and Nate's standing with one foot out the metaphorical door.

“Usted no puede pagar más que eso?” Sully asks, Spanish slow and overly formal, signs of someone who learned it late in life. Nate's got the advantage of growing up with it; he speaks Spanish just as well as English, and French almost as well the first two. Sully knows about the Spanish-- stupid mistake, to let him hear it, but he was surprised-- but Nate's playing dumb right now, leaning against the doorframe and staring at the ceiling, doing a credible impression of a bored teenager.

“No. Busca tú la manera de alimentar al mocoso.”

Sully sneers. “Asshole,” he mutters and turns away. “C'mon, kid.”

Nate trots after him and back onto the street. “Now what?” he asks, bratty and sullen because he's always believed in playing to his strengths.

“Don't start,” Sully says. “I've still got a few people who owe me favors.”

“And if they won't help?”

“Then we hock a few things, hotwire a car, and get the hell outta Dodge,” Sully replies. He gestures at Nate's belt. “You overly attached to that watch?”

Nate closes a hand around it. “Yeah. It's mine.” He hasn't sold it yet, and he'll be damned if he sells it now. He can take care of himself. If the old man starts trying to sell his shit--

“Suit yourself.” Sully shrugs and squints at the sky. “One more visit, then we'll grab dinner.”

“Whatever.” If nothing else, he's been eating better since meeting Sully. That's something.

They managed to find a job, an easy home robbery, and get out of Cartagena. And Sully doesn't ask about the watch again. That's fine with Nate. He'd feel stupid explaining it; Sully doesn't hold much with sentiment, and that's really all the watch is. It's a trophy, a souvenir, a relic of his first successful theft.

He'd been just barely past his ninth birthday, avoiding morning prayers, and in a fit of ill-advised bravado he snuck into the vestibule. The older boys said that sometimes the priests left their wallets behind and you could lift the cash while they were leading the others in prayer. Nate had been certain that if they could steal something, so could he, so he crept in. No wallets in sight, but there was a watch, silver and expensive-looking, and he'd snagged it almost before he could think.

Some businesses keep the first dollar they made. Nate keeps his first theft.

Years pass. Sully teaches him everything he knows, rescues him from jail and kidnappers and pirates, buys him new boots every six months. Nate stops thinking about his life in terms of when he'll leave and head off on his own. Sully's a part of his life now, or he's a part of Sully's, or both. He can't really imagine life without Victor Sullivan at his back.

It's in large part because of moments like this: Nate's flat on his back on the stone floor of an ancient temple, the wind knocked out of him, head pounding from the sudden impact. He's a little fuzzy on what's going on, what with the blow to the head; the vague thought that nineteen is entirely too young to die drifts through his mind. Things snap back into focus when the mercenary leader snarls something in Arabic-- Nate makes a mental note to brush up on the language when they get out of this-- and raises the ax to remove some vital part of Nate's anatomy.

The ax never falls, because Sully tackles the man out of the way. Nate manages to grab his pistol and climbs to his knees, vision still swimming, and he blinks hard as he tries to aim. Sully and the mercenary are struggling, fighting for control of the ax blade, and they're moving too fast for Nate to get a clear shot. “Shit,” he mutters. “C'mon, Sully, get clear--”

Sully, not being possessed of superhuman hearing, doesn't obey the order. Instead, he tries to kick the mercenary in the balls; the blow misses, the blade slips, and there's a splash of red along Sully's forearm. “Sully!” Nate shouts and for one moment, everything comes into crystal-clear focus. He twitches the gun to the left ever so slightly and pulls the trigger. The bullet goes through the mercenary's throat.

“Ah, shit,” Sully mutters and wraps a hand around his arm in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood. It's a long cut, from wrist to elbow, and there's a lot of blood.

“I told you to move,” Nate says, because if he and Sully can still crack jokes then it'll be all right, and peels off his shirt. “If you'd just listened--”

“You oughta speak up, kid,” Sully mutters. “How many times have I told you the importance of clear communication--”

“Never,” Nate says. He wraps his shirt around Sully's arm, using one of the sleeves as a makeshift tourniquet. “You have _never_ used the phrase 'clear communication' in your life, Sully.”

Sully snorts. “I'm thinking I might add it to the vocabulary.” He glances at the ground and sighs. “Bastard broke my watch.”

“Nice priorities,” Nate comments. “C'mon. I think they had a sewing kit at the hotel, I can play surgeon--”

“The hell you can. Find me a goddamn doctor. You're not coming near me with a needle.”

Nate laughs, because Sully's gonna be fine, and they head for the exit.

Three days later, they're loading up the Jeep in the middle of the night, skipping out on their hotel fees because sometimes they're terrible people, and Nate pulls the watch out of his pocket. He hasn't worn it for years, but he's held onto it, kept it working. Sentiment. “Here,” he says and tosses it to Sully.

Sully catches it in his good hand and frowns at it. “The hell's this?”

“It's a watch, Sully. You put it on your arm, it tells you the time--”

Sully switches the watch to his other hand, then reaches out and flicks Nate in the forehead. “Don't get smart with me, kid.”

Nate scowls. “You know, someday that's not gonna work.”

“Yeah, right.” Sully waves the watch at him. “What's this for?”

Nate rolls his eyes and climbs into the passenger seat. “You lost the old one. I found you a new one. Just take the damn thing and let's go before security shows up.”

Sully doesn't move, though, just studies the watch. And Sully remembers details almost as well as Nate; he'll recognize the watch. “Where'd you get it?” he finally asks, slipping it onto his wrist.

Nate shrugs and hooks an arm over the back of his seat. “Stole it,” he replies with a grin. “Where else?”

“Heh. 'Course you did.” Sully shakes his head and settles into the driver's seat. “You're a piece of work, kid.”

“Why else would you keep me around?”

Sully starts the car. “Why else, indeed?”

Nate stretches his legs out in front of him and leans his head back, grinning up at the starry sky, as Sully drives them out onto the open road.


	3. Nate/Elena, at least this part's traditional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Nate went about proposing to Elena. Unrepentant, sappy fluff.

“I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to be up here.”

Nate snorts and looks back over his shoulder at her. “Since when has that stopped me?” he asks and clambers up the stone wall to the next handhold.

Elena sighs and shakes her head, then follows him up the wall. They're in Indonesia for the week; she's covering a pan-Pacific economic conference, which has turned out to be mind-numbingly dull. So when Nate suggested a late-night walk to the beach, she'd readily agreed. A moonlight stroll with her boyfriend sounded much more fun than reading yet another policy briefing.

Of course, things are never that simple with Nate, and now they're scaling the wall of an abandoned coastal fortress. The fact that it's off-limits outside of normal tour hours is probably half of the place's appeal for him. She really hopes that the other half is the history of the place, rather than some priceless relic that he'll end up smuggling out of the country.

That's not very likely though, given how much effort he puts into keeping her out of his work. Elena makes a face and pulls herself up to the next ledge.

“Here, give me your hand,” Nate offers, leaning over the balustrade at the top and holding out his hand. Elena grabs it and lets him pull her up to the balcony. He grins at her and bounces on the balls of his feet as she steadies herself. As soon as she's got her balance, Nate grabs her elbow and leads her to the other side of the balcony.

“Nate, what're you up to?” she asks.

He guides her around a half-collapsed pillar. “Wanted to show you this.” Nate gestures at the railing and smiles hopefully.

Elena glances at him out of the corner of her eye, a little uncertain, but steps up to the balustrade and looks out. For a moment, she's not sure what she's supposed to be seeing, but then she looks down over the edge of the cliff and her jaw drops. There's a large, utterly still pond below them, probably once a tide pool that was separated from the ocean by the changing coastline. The water reflects the starry sky so perfectly that it looks like a mirror. “Oh, wow,” she breathes.

“Thought you'd like it,” Nate says from behind her. She hears him let out a slow breath, followed by the slight crunch of his boots on the loose stone. “I, uh, I don't have a ring,” he starts, and Elena whirls around to see him down on one knee, and her heart leaps into her throat. “But I thought I ought to do at least part of this traditionally.” Nate grins nervously and shrugs a little. “Marry me?”

She covers her mouth with her hand, struggling to recover her voice. She'd never really let herself think that they'd have this-- they love each other and they want to stay together, that's never been in doubt. But Nate's always been so afraid of commitment that she just assumed they'd never make it official. “Oh my god, Nate, are you serious?” she asks, voice muffled by her hand and choked by the lump in her throat.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Elena lets out a half-laugh. “Yes,” she says, blinking back tears. “Of course I will.”

Nate beams at her and gets to his feet as she steps towards him, then he almost takes her off her feet as he wraps his arms around her and kisses her. They're both laughing and breathless when they part, and Elena's smiling so hard her face hurts. “I love you,” she says, because she has no idea what else to say right now.

“Well, I'd hope so, otherwise this marriage thing is going to be a little awkward,” Nate replies, eyes sparkling. “And I love you, too.”

Marriage. They're going to be married-- he _wants_ to be married to her. Elena laughs and kisses him again, her arms looped around his neck. Nate leans his forehead against hers when they finally come up for air. “And now we should probably get out of here before security makes their patrols,” Nate says. “I'd rather not end this evening with an arrest.”

It wouldn't be an evening out with Nathan Drake if at least two laws weren't being broken. “Yeah,” Elena agrees. “Let's go.”


	4. Nate/Elena, cover stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena Fisher has a normal job and is married to an international thief. She has to come up with some kind of cover story. (Set before Uncharted 3.)

“So, just out of curiosity,” Nate begins, lacing his fingers through Elena’s, “what exactly do your co-workers think I do?”

Elena shrugs. She’d invited-slash-dragged him to an informal gathering with some of her fellow journalists; it’s a little harder to make excuses about not introducing Nate to people now that they were married. The evening had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Nate had attached himself to a couple of war correspondents and they’d spent most of the time exchanging stories of near-death experiences. “Enforcer for the mob,” she replies.

Nate stops walking, and their linked hands jerk Elena to a stop as well. “You told them I was in the mob!?”

“No, of course not.” Elena smiles sweetly at him. “I told them you were in the ‘import-export business’ and then didn’t bother to correct any of the gossip that starting spreading around.”

Nate shakes his head. “I can’t believe you told them your husband works for the mob.”

She grins in spite of herself; it's still new enough that hearing Nate describe himself as her husband gives her fluttery feelings in her chest. “I told you, I never said that. I just let them say it for me.” Elena tugs at his hand. “C’mon. I want to get back to the hotel before it starts raining.”

Nate heaves a sigh and starts walking again. “Why do they think I’m an enforcer?” he asks after about half a block. “Wouldn’t smuggler make more sense? Since that is, you know, part of what I _actually do_?”

“You don’t look the part,” Elena replies calmly. Nate’s increasing bewilderment is kind of hilarious, even though she knows better than to tell him that. “Most of them expect smugglers to be wearing expensive suits and sunglasses at all times.”

He snorts. “Clearly they’ve never met any actual smugglers.”

“Oh, some of them have,” she says. “They’re the ones who actually believed me when I said import-export. But the popular theory is that you beat up people for money.”

“Well, that’s… great.” Nate rolls his eyes. “Why hasn’t anyone, y’know, reported me? I can’t imagine everyone has your cavalier attitude towards law and order.”

She shrugs again. “Mostly because they like me and getting you arrested would be an inconvenience,” she says. “Also, they’re probably afraid that your supposed employers will send someone after them with a baseball bat if they do.”

“Argh.”

“Although hopefully _now_ no one will report you because they’ve met you and you’re clearly a nice, stand-up guy,” Elena continues.

“Who apparently assaults people for the Miami mob scene.”

“Right.”

Nate groans and rubs his free hand over his eyes. “Promise you’ll never tell Sully about any of this,” he mutters. “He will never let me hear the end of it.”

Elena laughs. “I won't tell him,” she promises. “After knowing you for almost twenty years, I'm sure he's got enough blackmail material without my help.”


	5. Nate/Elena, close to normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate's still not entirely used to this whole "normal" thing. Set a few months after Uncharted 2.

Nate looks up from his book as Elena trudges into their bedroom. “Hey,” he says. “How'd it go?”

“Eh. It went.” She drops her purse on the desk and steps out of her heels; Nate barely manages to hide a smirk as her height drops three inches. “Lots of gossip and slander under the guise of 'networking.'”

He snorts. “Sounds better than my line of work. You get a bunch of my colleagues in a room together and the backstabbing tends to be more literal.”

Elena laughs, and Nate grins, because he loves it when he can make her laugh after a long day. It makes it easier to believe that this thing between them might work. “I don't know, that might be preferable,” she says as she starts to remove her jewelry. “At least then I'd be allowed to hit people.”

He chuckles and swings his legs over the side of the bed, watching her go through the motions of undressing. It's not a striptease-- there's been a few of those, and they are memories that he will cherish for years to come-- but this is more relaxed than that. More normal. Domestic is the word that comes to mind, and he doesn't quite flinch away from the thought. It's still weird, this whole committed relationship thing, because he's never really let himself get this comfortable around someone else. He's never let someone get this comfortable around him.

It's weird, but it's definitely not bad.

Elena peels off her shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the laundry hamper. Nate leans forward and hooks his fingers into the belt loops on her pants, pulling her closer. She chuckles and raises an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

He just shrugs, smiling, and wraps his arms around her waist. Elena settles her hands on his shoulders, one thumb idly stroking the side of his neck, and he leans into the touch. Nate shifts his hand up to her left side, frowning a bit as he runs his fingers over the scars there. Flynn's parting gift. He scowls briefly at the thought of the man. It's not that he dislikes scars in general-- usually he thinks they're pretty cool, truth be told, proof of survival-- but these are a reminder of how very, very close he came to losing her. He might never have had this moment, sitting on the edge of her bed and holding her in his arms, momentarily unable to breathe with how much he loves her.

“Nate.” He looks up at her, and her smile's a bit wry as she cups one hand against the side of his face. “I'm still here,” she says, because she can see straight through him, always could. And the weird, terrifying part about that is that he doesn't really mind.

Nate tightens his arms around her and smiles back. “I know.”

Then Elena's kissing him, climbing onto the bed to straddle his legs, and all the things that scare him don't really matter so much anymore. At least, not for tonight.


	6. First impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate and Elena's first meeting wasn't exactly what you'd call friendly. Set pre-Drake's Fortune.

Within fifteen minutes of meeting him, Elena has come to three conclusions about Nathan Drake: he's handsome, he's charming as hell, and he's kinda sleazy. He’s the sort that _knows_ he's handsome, and he's laying on the charm just a little too thick. Andi's eating it up with a spoon, of course, laughing too much at his jokes and glossing over whole sections of the negotiation.

“So the boat's been certified for deep-sea excavation?” Drake asks, glancing over the specifications.

“Mm-hm,” Andi says, twirling her hair around her finger. Elena rolls her eyes at her producer. Something’s off about this whole thing. Most people who are about to be on TV are far, far more interested in the cameras and the filming and production. Drake hasn't asked a single question about his upcoming television appearance.

Elena clears her throat and crosses her arms over her chest. “So, Mr. Drake, if you don't mind my asking, how did you find the alleged location of the coffin, anyway?”

Drake glances up at her, eyebrows raised, and Elena knows her words hit their mark. Put him on defense, make him prove that he knows where it is, and he might tip his hand. “I'd rather not reveal my sources just yet,” he replies after a moment, too smooth, and she narrows her eyes at him. “The last thing I want is for someone to beat us to it.”

“Well, if someone beats us to it, then I don't have a show,” she points out. “So we have just as much an interest in keeping it quiet as you do.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No offense, but I don't know either of you well enough to trust you not to take the information and run. Pays to be cautious in my line of work.”

“And what line of work is that, exactly?” Elena asks with a bright, false smile. She ignores Andi's annoyed glare and continues to stare levelly at Drake.

He hesitates for a second before replying. “Historian,” he lies, obviously, glancing at a point over her shoulder as he says it. “And occasional amateur archeologist. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I'll need to put together a bio on you for the episode,” she says. “Can't just be running around with some mystery man for forty-three minutes.”

Drake's smile is a little tense as he leans back in his chair. “Why not?” he replies, trying for roguish and falling a bit short of the mark. “People like an enigma.”

“We'll work something out,” Andi interrupts with a dismissive hand-wave. “Did you have any other questions, Mr. Drake?”

He looks relieved as he switches his focus back to Andi, and Elena barely manages to keep from scowling. “You've got a buyer lined up for the coffin?” he asks.

Andi nods. “We have a few interested museums. They'll want to authenticate it, of course, and then we can work out the show's percentage once they've made offers.”

He grins, and for the first time since he came in the door, it looks genuine. “Sounds perfect. Where do I sign?”

“Last page of the contract,” Andi says. Drake flips it open and pulls a pen out of his pocket, then scrawls something that might pass for a signature across the bottom. “Thank you, Mr. Drake. I'm-- I mean, we're looking forward to working with you.”

Elena rolls her eyes again. Real smooth. Drake reaches across the table and shakes their hands as they all stand. “As am I,” he says.

“We'll be in touch about the travel arrangements in Panama,” Elena says. “I'll see you in about a month.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Andi walks him to the door of her office, then collapses against it as soon as it's closed. “Oh my _god_ ,” she breathes. “You are so, _so_ lucky.”

“If he turns out to be a serial killer, I'm blaming you,” Elena replies flatly and reaches across the table to collect the paperwork.

“He's not a serial killer,” Andi says. “He's too hot to be a serial killer.”

“Says the woman who's not being sent off on a solo boat trip with him.”

“Yeah. I know. Which is why I said you're lucky.”

Elena sighs. “There's a lot he's not telling us,” she says. “Something's off about this whole thing.”

Andi pushes off from the door and takes the stack of papers that Elena's holding out. “We've got a month to do some digging,” she says, reluctantly returning to the role of producer. “Besides, I've seen you in the gym. You can break his nose if he tries anything.”

“Andi, he's got nine inches and probably eighty pounds on me,” Elena retorts. “I don't like those odds and I lost you when I said nine inches in connection to Nathan Drake, didn't I.” Andi just grins and heads to her desk. Elena groans and gets to her feet. “You're impossible,” she says, heading for the door. “I gotta get back to editing.”

“Have fun,” Andi says. “I'll let you know if I find anything else on Drake.”

Elena waves over her shoulder as she steps back into the hall, then exhales heavily. Yeah. This is gonna go _real_ well.


	7. Nate/Elena, leaving Nepal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate plays with Pema, Elena muses and translates. Sully insists on driving. Set just after Uncharted 2.

Elena grimaces and eases herself down on a low bench just outside the village gates. She thought she’d been doing better, but given that the walk from Schaefer’s house to here has left her winded and aching, she may have overestimated her abilities. Sully’s on his way back to the village with a truck; once he gets here, they’ll finally be able to start hopscotching across the planet towards home.

She leans back against the wall, catching her breath while she watches Nate and Pema run around the courtyard. They’ve been trying to teach each other their languages, mostly by pointing at things and repeating words back and forth. Pema leads Nate over to a large tree and points up at the branches. Nate frowns. “Tree,” he says. “Didn’t we do this one already?” Pema shakes her head and points up again, jumping up and down and babbling something that Elena can’t quite make out. Nate looks up again, then reaches up and pulls a leaf off the tree. He holds it up; Pema nods and smiles at him, then points at the leaf. “Ah, okay, got it. Leaf.”

Pema giggles. “Leaf?”

“Yep.” Nate grins and gestures at her. “What’s your word for it?”

“Shomok.”

Nate repeats it back; Pema claps her hands in delight, then grabs his wrist and drags him off again. He catches Elena’s eye as they go past; she waves, and he smiles sheepishly. Elena chuckles and shakes her head. It’s a little surprising, how good Nate is with kids. He’s been keeping Pema entertained for a few days now, and he’s gotten pulled into a couple soccer games with some of the other children. And Elena knows it’s a bad idea, given their history, but watching Nate chase Pema around… she’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her think about their future.

“ _How are you feeling?_ ” Tenzin asks, breaking into her thoughts as he steps up beside her.

“ _Better. Thanks.”_ Her Tibetan’s a little rusty, and the villagers speak a dialect she’s not really familiar with. But they’re managing, both of them speaking slowly and carefully so they can understand each other. “ _How is the village?_ ”

Tenzin glances back at the gates and sighs. “ _We will survive,_ ” he says. “ _We lost many, but we will rebuild._ ”

“ _That’s good._ ” Elena hesitates for a moment before continuing. “ _I am sorry that we brought this here._ ” She doesn’t really know the words for ‘I’m sorry an army followed us to your home and leveled half of it,’ so she goes for what’s closest.

He shakes his head. “ _It wasn’t your fault_ ,” he says. “ _The blame lies with the ones who did the killing. Not you._ ”

They wouldn’t have done the killing if she and Nate hadn’t come to the village, though. Elena sighs and lets the matter drop. She’s not confident enough in her Tibetan to continue arguing, anyway. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence while they watch Nate and Pema; from what snatches of conversation Elena can overhear, it seems like they’ve moved into more abstract concepts, like colors. Nate’s trying to explain what the word _green_ refers to (“green leaf, green grass, green… prayer flag, what’s the word for that again…”) when Sully’s truck rolls into view at the top of the hill.

“Truck,” Nate tells Pema as they walk back over. “That’s called a truck.”

“Truck,” she repeats happily. Elena starts to get to her feet; Nate’s at her side almost instantly, holding out his arm so she can lean on him. Pema looks at the two of them, then at the truck, and directs a question to Nate that all but breaks Elena’s heart.

Nate glances at Elena for a translation. She sighs. “She wants to know when we’ll be coming back.”

For a second, Nate looks like he can’t quite breathe, his eyes going wide with something like horror. Then he swallows hard and shakes his head. “I… just… tell her we don’t know,” he finally says. “We could write, though. Or, well, you could. I don’t think that writing letters in English is going to do much good.”

Elena squeezes his hand before pulling her arm free and crouching down to Pema’s level. “ _I don’t know when we’ll be back,_ ” she says. Pema’s face crumples. “ _But we can write letters to each other._ ”

“ _Until you come back_ ,” Pema says, and Elena decides not to translate that one for Nate. She just reaches out to squeeze Pema’s shoulder; the young girl takes that an invitation and launches herself at Elena, hugging her tightly around the neck. Elena blinks hard, a little surprised at the sudden tears pricking her eyes.

“ _I’m glad that I met you,_ ” Elena says as she stands back up.

Pema just nods and turns to Nate, holding her arms out expectantly. Nate huffs out a weak laugh and drops down to one knee to give her a hug. “Be good for your dad, okay?” he says, and Elena quickly translates.

“ _I will_ ,” Pema promises and latches onto Tenzin’s leg when Nate steps back.

They say their good-byes to Tenzin, with Elena translating Nate’s fervent thanks as best she can, then Nate holds out his arm to her again and they head towards the truck. Sully’s pushes himself off the door when they approach. “Ready to go, kids?” he says.

“Yeah,” Nate says, his shoulders hunched, his smile a bit brittle around the edges. “I’m gonna sleep for a week once we get back.”

Elena squeezes his hand. “That sounds great.”

Nate opens the door for her and helps her into the backseat. Elena’s torn between thinking that he’s being really sweet and worrying that this might be setting up an unfortunate precedent for overprotective hovering. Still, she’ll let it go for now. She does sort of need the help, after all.

“The hell are you doing?” Sully asks as Nate climbs into the passenger seat.

Nate blinks at him. “…sitting down?”

Sully jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Get in the back with your girl,” he orders.

“I didn’t want you bitching about playing chauffeur!” Nate says and clambers over the seats. Elena rolls her eyes and moves her legs out of the way so that he doesn’t fall on her.

“Quite frankly, based on what I’ve heard about your driving, I want both of you as far away from the wheel as possible,” Sully says. “I do not want to go off a cliff.”

“That was an accident,” Elena says, at the same time that Nate protests “It was our only escape!”

“My point exactly. No vehicular cliff diving for either of you.”

Nate finally gets himself settled and wraps his arm around Elena’s shoulders, pulling her in against his side. She smiles and leans her head against his chest. It’ll be nice to finally go home.


	8. Nate/Elena, nightmares after Yemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take both of them a while to get over everything that happened in Yemen. Set just after Uncharted 3.

Elena wakes abruptly, disoriented and blinking into the darkness. It takes a few seconds to piece together where she is (hotel in London) and what woke her (shouting?). Nate’s gasping for breath beside her, and Elena half-murmurs his name, reaches out to touch his shoulder. He jumps at the contact, then all but throws himself at her, his face pressed against her neck and his arms wrapped tight around her waist. He’s shaking, his shirt and hair are both damp with sweat, and Elena can feel his heart pounding.

She sighs quietly and presses a kiss to his temple, runs her hand up and down his spine. “It’s okay, Nate,” she murmurs. “It’s all right, you’re all right.” He makes a choked, whimpering noise in response and tightens his grip on her.

Even before he left, it had been a while since he’d had nightmares like this. They’d been semi-frequent in the months after Nepal; she’d wake up to find him pacing the hall of her apartment, or sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, or sometimes just staring at her as though reassuring himself that she was real. But it happened less and less as time when by. And then he’d walked out, and she’d slept alone for months.

This is only the second night they’ve been sharing a bed again. Yesterday Nate had been utterly exhausted; getting him out of bed had practically required a cattle prod. Too tired to dream, maybe, Elena guesses, but no such luck tonight. She keeps murmuring quiet reassurances, the content mattering less than the mere fact of their existence, something else to calm him down. “It’s all right, Nate, it’s all right, you’re safe, you’re safe now…”

Probably dreaming about the desert, she assumes, or maybe lingering images from his recent encounters with hallucinogens. Or maybe that whole mess in the shipyard, or the fire in France, or… Elena slides her other hand up to cradle the back of his head and lets out a slow breath. How many times has she almost lost him for good, over the past two weeks alone? “It’s okay,” she says, almost more to herself than him. “It’s okay…”

Eventually, Nate’s breathing settles down to something closer to normal and the shaking stops. He doesn’t move away, though, which is perfectly fine with Elena. She could use the reassurance that he’s here and alive and whole just as much as him. “Sorry,” Nate mumbles after a while. “I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she repeats, carding her fingers through his hair. Nate sighs, his breath warm on her skin. “You wanna talk about it?” She can feel Nate grimace, and he shakes his head. “Okay,” she murmurs. “It’s okay…”

“Sorry,” he says again, helplessly, and starts to pull away.

Elena lets him move back a little, enough that she can see his face, but she’s not willing to let him go entirely, not yet. “It's all right.”

He shakes his head and tries to curl in on himself, ducking his head and avoiding her gaze. “This isn’t—you shouldn’t have to—I’m, I’m not…”

“Nate,” she says, and he falls silent, his eyes flicking up to her face for a moment. “Shut up, okay?” She thinks he almost smiles at that, then he drags her close again and buries his face in her hair. “Think you can get back to sleep?” she asks. He nods. “Okay.”

A few minutes pass in silence, and Elena’s half-asleep herself when Nate shifts a bit, leans his cheek against the top of her head. “‘lena?”

“Mm?”

“Love you.”

She blinks, a little startled, then smiles against his shoulder. Maybe she’ll be able to get used to hearing that from him, this time. “Love you, too.”


	9. Nate and Chloe, time zones and feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe forgets how timezones work, Nate answers the phone anyway, and both of them try to talk about their Feelings. It doesn't go as badly as you might think. Set shortly after Uncharted 2.

Chloe’s got homes around the world—an apartment in New York, a studio in Moscow, a flat in London. London’s her official address, the one she puts on all those papers that prove she’s a person, but it’s the apartment in Sydney that’s really home to her. It’s her closest secret, the one place she can go and actually feel something close to safe.

It’s where she goes after Nepal. After Shambala, after Lazarevic, after Harry. It takes almost thirty-six hours of flying and airports and taxis, but eventually she makes it in the front door. She leaves her bag on the floor and checks her answering machine first, out of habit. She’s never been good at keeping cell phones in one piece, so she always directs her voicemail back here. That way she knows she won’t miss anything important.

She’s only got a handful of missed calls, most of them unimportant. There’s one from her mother, a passive-aggressive scolding for failing to call on her nephew’s birthday. Chloe grimaces and deletes it halfway through. The last message is only six hours old, and Chloe leans back in her chair, staring at nothing as it plays.

“ _Hey, Chloe, it’s me. Nate. Uh, I just wanted to see where you were, if you’re, y’know, okay. You just sorta took off. Just, uh, just give me a call when you get this. Bye.”_

Chloe cringes again and fishes out her phone. She should have told him she was leaving. None of them exactly had an easy time of it in Nepal, and whatever else might be in their history, Nate’s a friend.

The phone rings two and a half times before Nate picks up. “’lo?” he slurs, and Chloe belatedly remembers that time zones are a thing. She chalks up the oversight to the fact that she hasn’t slept in about three days.

“Nate. Uh, hi.” Well, this is going well. “Sorry, I forgot it’d be later for you.”

“Where are you?” He sounds a little more awake now, and Chloe can hear rustling sounds in the background.

She hesitates before answering. “Melbourne,” she lies. He’s a friend, yes, but she doesn’t trust anyone with this place.

“I’m in Florida, so it’s earlier for me.” There’s another voice in the background, and Nate moves the phone away from his mouth. “Shh, ‘lena, it’s okay, go back to sleep,” he says, and Chloe can’t help a small smile at the tenderness in his voice. There’s more rustling and the sound of a door closing before he speaks again. “Sorry. Had to get out of bed.”

“I gathered.” Chloe sighs. “I completely forgot about the time difference.”

“You’d think we’d be better at it, with all the traveling we do,” Nate says. “So what’s going on?”

“I just—I got your message. Sorry for just disappearing like that.”

“Eh, it’s all right.” She can almost hear him shrugging. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Mm.” She doesn’t tell him that she is, because, well, she’s not entirely sure. “How’re you doing?”

“Better,” Nate says. “I keep finding bruises in interesting places, but everything’s healing.”

“That’s good.” Chloe tucks her phone between her ear and her shoulder and starts unlacing her boots. “How’s Elena?”

“She’s doing better, too.” And there it is again, that tenderness and warmth. She did the right thing, pointing him at Elena back in the village. He’s obviously crazy about her.

Chloe kicks off one boot and starts on the second. “She’s staying with you?”

“For now, yeah. We’re just hanging around my place, bitching about how much everything hurts, eating way too much takeout.” Nate pauses for a second before continuing. “It’s… it’s good.” We’re good, Chloe reads between the lines, and smiles. “How about you?” Nate asks. “How’re you holding up?”

She toes off her other boot and leans back in her chair again. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Exhausted, mostly. I don’t think I’ve slept for a week.” Nate chuckles and makes a vague sound of agreement. An awkward silence falls on the line; Chloe tries to figure out how to say what she’s thinking, if she even should say anything. “It just doesn’t seem real that he’s gone,” she finally blurts out.

Nate exhales heavily, almost in relief. “Yeah.”

“I mean, he was an asshole--” and isn’t that the understatement of the bloody year, “but he was… he wasn’t always.” She has to believe that, has to believe that Harry wasn’t always a backstabbing murdering scumbag underneath, because she liked him and cared about him and if he was always like that, then what does that say about her?

“I know,” Nate says.

They were friends, too, him and Harry, somewhere in the past. “I just can’t figure out what happened,” she says. “When it all went sideways. And—and I just wonder--” if there was something she could have done, should have done, that would have made things turn out differently.

“Don’t,” Nate says, voice sharp. “Don’t do that. You know better. He made his choices. He didn’t _have_ to do any of it, and we sure as hell didn’t make him.” He scoffs wordlessly. “If he’d just run the plan at the damn museum, we’d have been swimming in treasure by now.”

Chloe glances out her window. “You wouldn’t have seen Elena again, though,” she points out.

Nate’s quiet for a while, and Chloe fears she’s stepped over some unspoken line. “Well, she wouldn’t have nearly gotten blown up, either, so…” He trails off with a sigh. “Besides, I could’ve called her. It’s not like she’d dropped off the face of the earth.”

In retrospect, that’s not surprising. The plan had been to run off together, but it had been _her_ plan, not his. He’d never agreed to it, and now Chloe sees why. He’s in love with Elena, has probably been in love with her for years. Even if things had gone right, he wouldn’t have stayed. The realization doesn’t hurt nearly as much as she expected. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“You have no idea,” Nate says, then seems to catch himself. “I’m sorry--”

“I already told you, Nate, it’s fine.” And it is. Nate’s a friend, a good one, and that’s all she really wants from him. “I should let you go. Tell Elena I said hi.”

“I will,” Nate says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “In the morning.”

Chloe chuckles. “Right. Bye, Nate.”

“Bye.”

She hangs up and tosses the phone onto the other chair. It’s close to four-thirty. She knows she should stay up, try to force herself back into this timezone. But… to hell with it. She’s exhausted and she’s grieving, though she’d be hard-pressed to pinpoint the time and place when she lost Harry. It was long, long before he died, though.

Chloe shakes her head and pushes herself up out of the chair. “You stupid bastard,” she mutters and heads to her bedroom.


	10. Chloe and Harry, post-museum heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone had plans for the museum heist, and of all people, Harry Flynn was the one who knew everything. Chloe certainly wouldn't have called that.

She knows something’s wrong the instant Harry rounds the corner. He’s alone. Chloe stares through the window, disbelieving, as he pounds down the alley towards the van. He’s alone and he’s armed, oh, _god_ —

“Where’s Nate?” she snaps as soon as Harry yanks the door open.

He sneers at her and throws himself into the passenger seat. “I’m fine, thanks, now _drive_.”

Chloe doesn’t move. “Where is he?”

“For Christ’s—he got caught, now go before we do too!”

She can hear sirens, too close for comfort, and it’s no help to any of them if they wind up in prison along with Nate. Chloe takes off the parking brake and drives out of the alley. “What the hell happened?”

Harry unhooks his backpack and sets it on the floor at his feet. “I followed the plan,” he replies.

“What are you talking about?” Chloe checks the mirrors for any sign of pursuit, but it looks like they got away clean. “The plan was--”

“Oh, I know what the plan was.” There’s something frigid in his voice, and Chloe glances at him to see his face twisted in a snarl. “Screw me over, run off with my share and my girl.”

There’s so much wrong with that statement, Chloe’s not even sure where to begin. “ _Your_ girl?” she repeats. “You’ve got no claim on me, Flynn, so don’t--”

“Oh, right, of course not,” he snaps. “Must make it much easier, if that’s what you tell yourself when you’re fucking him--”

“You left him there,” Chloe says with sudden, horrible certainty. “You made sure he’d get caught.”

Harry taps the gun against his knee, a twitchy, nervous motion, and glares out the window. “I followed the plan.”

Before Chloe can ask what he’s talking about, again, Harry’s phone buzzes. He digs it out of his bag and grimaces faintly before answering. “Zoran,” he says, his tone bright and forced. “Great news. Went off without a hitch. Got the map and cut Drake loose.” He pauses, listening, and Chloe can hear Lazarevic’s accented voice from the other end. “Yeah. In Borneo. I’ll have to check an atlas, but I think I can find the site of the wreckage. Give me a few days and I’ll--” Lazarevic cuts him off, and Harry makes a face. “I’ve got a four-hundred-year-old doodle and the entire west coast of Borneo to review,” he snaps. “It’s gonna take a bit of time!”

Chloe stares at the road ahead, her hands guiding the car along the plotted route without much input from her brain. They betrayed Nate, left him to rot in prison, and for what? The treasure was supposed to be theirs, split three ways, they’d have been rich, all of them, so why—

“Yeah, you were right, it mentions Shambhala,” Harry says, and Chloe does a double take. “And something called a Cintamani Stone. Is that—ah. Well, good, glad that’s what you were after.” Harry glances at Chloe. “Yeah, she did. Worked out perfectly. We’ll be in Tbilisi by morning. Right. Right. See you then.”

“What did I do?” Chloe asks tensely as he hangs up the phone.

Harry shrugs. “Cooperated with the plan,” he replies. “Which you did. Good job, by the way. Zoran’s very pleased with both of us.”

“Harry, we’re not even supposed to be working for him anymore!” she snaps. “He’s a bloody psychopath.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry shakes his head. “You don’t cross someone like Lazarevic, all right? We do this job, he’ll make us rich, and then we can go our separate ways.”

Chloe brakes at a stoplight and turns to look at him. “This was your plan all along,” she says, searching his face. “You were always going to screw him over.”

“Guess that’s something we have in common, love,” Harry replies with false cheer. “Zoran told me to get into the palace museum, I told him it couldn’t be done, he told me to find someone who could do it. Drake knocked over the place a few years back. I knew he could get us in.”

“And then you were supposed to ‘cut him loose?’”

“Yeah.” Harry glances at her and rolls his eyes. “What, you didn’t really expect me to offer him an invite into the team, did you? Drake’s a self-righteous bastard, he’d never work for Lazarevic.”

The light turns green, and Chloe shifts her foot to the gas. She doesn’t especially want to work for Lazarevic either. It had been a good plan—steal the relic, take the treasure, disappear. It would have worked. And now she’s stuck with the psychopath and with Harry, because if she bails now they’ll definitely kill her. Shit. “What does this have to do with Shambhala?” she asks.

Harry glances at her sideways. “Oh, so now you’re on board?”

Not like she’s got much of a choice. “He wants us to track down a myth,” Chloe replies with a shrug. “Either he’s a nutcase and you really ought to reconsider bailing, or he’s really onto something. If it’s the latter…” She trails off significantly and lets Harry draw his own conclusions.

He smirks. “I’ll tell you once we’re on the plane,” he says.

They drive the rest of the way in silence. Chloe parks the car in an alley a few blocks from the airfield and pops the trunk. Nate’s bag is in there, too, since he’d been expecting to leave with them. Chloe hesitates, then glances at Harry. “Go find our pilot,” she says. “I’ll wipe down the car, lock up.”

“Right.” Harry grabs his bag. “Meet you at the plane in ten?”

“Yeah.” Chloe digs out a towel, stolen from the hotel for this purpose, and leans into the car to wipe her fingerprints off the steering wheel. As soon as Harry’s out of sight, she goes back to the trunk and hauls Nate’s bag out. It is, unsurprisingly, a mess, and it takes a few minutes of frustrated searching to dig out his wallet, his passport, and his phone. There’s got to be _someone_ he knows who can help him. And the last thing they need is for the authorities to find his IDs.

She’s about to toss the bag back in the trunk—hopefully Nate’s not overly attached to any of those clothes—when she remembers something else. She spends another minute rummaging around before she finds his ring, the leather cord neatly wrapped around it for safekeeping. Chloe nods to herself and sticks the ring in his wallet before shoving it all into her bag, underneath her clothes. “Sorry, Nate,” she mutters as she slams the trunk shut. “I’ll find some way to get you out of this.”

First, though, she’s got to get the hell out of Turkey.


	11. Nate, portraits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this screenshot](http://www.hobbytrucos.es/sites/default/files/users/Sonia%20Herranz/11.-puzzle-05.-resuelto.jpg)

“Hold up a second, kid.”

Nate stops in the middle of the room and turns around. Sully's bent forward, his hands on his thighs, looking a little winded. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just-- can we take a minute?”

Nate doesn't have to look at Elena to know that she's glaring at him. Like this is somehow his fault. He asked Sully if he wanted to come-- he didn't order him or beg him or guilt him into it. He asked, and Sully agreed. It's _not_ his fault. “Yeah, sure,” Nate says with a casual shrug. “Not like anyone can come charging in, anyway.” He gestures at the tightly sealed door leading back into the cistern.

“Unless they figure out how to open it,” Elena points out. When did she become such a pessimist? She used to be the one who'd see the good in every situation, and now...

Nate forces a smile onto his face. “They don't have the map,” he replies. “They'd have to try every possible combination-- they wouldn't even know how many levers to pull.”

Elena shrugs and looks away, apparently unwilling to admit that he's right. It does happen, on occasion, but of course she won't... Nate swallows hard and glances around the room. Goddammit. How did they get like this, bitter and angry and resentful, looking for the worst in each other. They loved each other, once-- hell, he knows he still loves her, he just... he couldn't stay. She was trying to change him, make him give this up. This is who he is. If she doesn't like it, then she shouldn't have married him in the first place.

Sully sits down on the steps facing the central door with a faint groan. Elena sets down her shotgun and walks over to him, asks him something, but her voice is pitched too low for Nate to hear. He watches them chat, feeling oddly lonely, then looks away quickly when Elena glances at him. He sits down on another set of stairs and pulls out his journal and a pencil.

He makes a few notes about the puzzles and traps they've found, then flips to a blank page. And he means to start drawing the statues by the door, he really does, but he finds himself sketching Elena instead. It's an old habit; he's been trying to draw her properly almost since they first met, and he's never satisfied with what he creates. It's never right, somehow, doesn't get the fall of her hair or the sparkle in her eyes or the way she smiles...

Sully laughs, the sound echoing through the room, and Nate hunches his shoulders and tries to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach. He keeps stealing glances at Elena and hoping that neither of them notice. He finishes a rough sketch of her as she's talking to Sully, her hands up in front of her chest, a genuine smile on her face for the first time since they got into the city. Nate hesitates, his pencil hovering over the hands, then shakes his head and starts again.

The second drawing, he's a little more careful with, takes his time on the details of her face. Seeing her again... he's missed her, these past months, and he didn't realize how much until he actually saw her face to face. He thinks, for probably the thousandth time since he left, that maybe it was a mistake, that he shouldn't have-- But no. It's the same answer, every time. He _had_ to leave. She wanted him to give up on all this, and he can't do that. He can't. He's Drake's heir, he has to see this through, it's who he is, dammit, it's who he is...

“Ready to go, kid?” Sully says from behind him, too close, and Nate slaps the journal shut.

“Waitin' on you, old man,” he says as he stands up, grinning, carefully not looking at Elena. “Ready to see what's behind door number two?”

“You bet.” Sully claps him on the shoulder. Nate shoves his journal back in his pocket and takes the lead to the next door. This is where he belongs-- ancient ruins, seeking long-lost treasure, following in the footsteps of his ancestor. It's who he is. He has to do this. He has to.


	12. Why Nate and Sully Really Hate Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Nate's twenty-second birthday, the nasty scar on his left shoulder, and his and Sully's mutual hatred of tequila, as told to Elena after Drake's Fortune. Pure headcanon.

“All right, kids,” Sully says. “What're we having? I'll get us a bottle.”

Elena shrugs and scoots her chair closer to Nate. They're at a beachside bar, celebrating the sale of the first chunk of the treasure recovered from the lost Spanish colony. Nate glances at her and grins, then wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I don't know,” Elena says. “Tequila?”

Nate and Sully both cringe; Nate shudders, and Sully shakes his head. “No,” Sully says.

“Anything but tequila,” Nate agrees.

Elena glances back and forth between the two of them. “There's a story there.”

“There is,” Nate says. “And it's a really awful story, but I will tell you anyway, because if I don't, Sully will, and it'll sound even worse.”

“Kid, it's gonna be hard to tell that story in a way that makes us sound good,” Sully says.

“Just-- less bad, that's all I want.”

Sully rolls his eyes and stands up. “I'm getting rum,” he says. “Don't start the story until I get back.”

Elena looks over at Nate. “I'm gonna regret not having my camera again, aren't I,” she says.

Nate chuckles. “Probably. I, on the other hand, am once again _really really_ glad it's gone.”

“Easy for you to say,” she replies. “You don't have to pay to replace it.”

“It's a camera,” Nate says. “How much could it cost?”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “My producer was more concerned about the camera than the boat that you blew up.”

“Oh.” Nate blinks at her. “Well. At least we're rich now?”

“Or at least, less poor.”

Sully cuts into the conversation by dropping the bottle of rum onto the table with a heavy thunk. “So, the story of why Nate and I have horrible, Vietnam-like flashbacks at the mere mention of tequila,” he begins as he uncorks the bottle.

Nate holds up a hand to silence Sully. “Let me start the story with one of the most important facts: this all took place on my twenty-second birthday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sully says, pouring rum into the trio of glasses. “That just makes it _so_ much worse.”

“It really does,” Nate agrees.

Elena chuckles and shakes her head. “You guys are really hyping this story,” she says. “It can't be as bad as you're making it sound.”

Nate leans forward and snags two glasses, then passes one to Elena. “Yes. Yes, it can.”

“So, Nate's twenty-second birthday, and we're exploring a ruined temple complex in Belize,” Sully says. “We'd been hired to recover... some kinda relic, I don't even remember--”

“It was an golden statue,” Nate says, gesturing with his hands to indicate the size. “Lots of engravings and gemstones, lost when half the temple fell into a sinkhole, that sort of thing.”

“Right. We're out there to find this statue, and these mercenaries show up, going after the same treasure.”

Elena glances sideways at Nate. “Mercenaries and pirates chasing you is a pretty common thing, then.”

He grins sheepishly and nods. “Yeah.”

“Good to know.”

“We get to the room with the treasure about thirty seconds before the mercs do, and it turns into a goddamn brawl.” Sully pauses to light a fresh cigar and blows a stream of smoke away from the table. “Nate and I are just trying to fight our way out, the mercs are trying to kill us, y'know, the usual.”

“Right,” Elena says. “The usual.” She takes a healthy drink of rum and leans back against Nate's arm.

“Nate ends up getting stabbed in the shoulder, and the blade's so cheap that it just snaps off,” Sully says. “That was when Nate stopped trying to protect the treasure and started using it as a weapon.”

Nate chuckles at the memory. Elena turns to look at him. “So that's what that scar's from,” she says, reaching out to touch his left shoulder. He nods.

Sully looks confused for a second, then shakes his head. “Oh. Right. You would know about that, wouldn't you.”

Elena just grins and takes another sip of rum. “Sully, did you honestly forget that we're--” Nate begins, gesturing at himself and Elena.

“No, the many hours of lost sleep won't let me forget, kid.”

Nate smirks at him. “Just consider it payback, old man.”

Sully scowls and leans across the table, trying to flick Nate in the forehead. Nate laughs and bats his hand away. Elena rolls her eyes. “So, Nate gets stabbed and starts hitting people with the statue,” she prompts. “What then?”

“Oh, right.” Sully shoots Nate a dirty look before returning to the tale. “Anyway, we manage to get out with the treasure and drive back into town. We stash the treasure-- at Nate's insistence, I wanted to get him to a doctor--”

“Blade in the shoulder,” Nate says. “No way in _hell_ was I gonna risk losing the treasure after going through all that.”

Elena rolls her eyes. Somehow, that clarification of Nate's priorities is not at all surprising. “And then I dragged Nate out to find a doctor to patch him up,” Sully says.

“Doctor's kind of a strong word,” Nate says. “His idea of cleaning the wound was to pour straight rubbing alcohol over it,” Elena winces, hissing in sympathy, and shakes her head, “and I'm pretty sure he used sewing thread to stitch me up.”

“Needless to say, Nate's in a pretty bad mood when we leave the, ah, 'clinic,'” Sully says. “So, we went out to a bar. Got a bottle of tequila and started doing shots to celebrate.”

“You were celebrating,” Nate says with a grin. “I was attempting to numb the pain.”

“Eh, tomato, tomatoe,” Sully replies. “Anyway, we get about halfway through the bottle when three very lovely young ladies come over to our table with a bottle of their own and ask if they can join us.” He takes a drag on the cigar and smiles, his gaze going distant with fond nostalgia.

“Obviously, we said yes,” Nate puts in dryly. “They wanted to play a drinking game-- I've Never?”

Elena nods. “Oh, I'm familiar with it,” she says. It had been a staple at the frat parties she'd gone to with her first boyfriend in college.

“We're doing a lot of shots,” Sully says. “Nate and I get a second bottle, and then...” He trails off and looks over at Nate.

Nate shrugs. “I dunno. That's about where my memory starts to get pretty fuzzy. The last thing I remember is explaining the difference between Mayan and Aztec funeral rites and why no one will pay for Mayan ritual daggers.” Elena turns to stare at him, her eyebrows raised, and Nate shrugs. “What? It made sense at the time.”

“Next thing I know, I'm waking up back in our hotel room,” Sully says.

“I think I was still drunk when I woke up,” Nate adds thoughtfully.

“It takes a couple hours before either of us can, you know, move or figure out how the hell we ended up back in our room,” Sully says. “Eventually, though, Nate realizes that the goddamn treasure's gone. Along with all our cash.”

Elena claps a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “No,” she says, fighting back laughter.

“Oh yeah,” Nate says. “We got conned. Best we could figure, they'd filled their bottle with water. Got us blackout drunk, took us back to our room, and robbed us blind.”

“Oh god,” Elena says. She can't quite keep from laughing, and Nate just heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“We spend the rest of the weekend holed up in our room, trying to figure out how we're gonna get back home with no money,” Sully says.

Nate snorts. “You were trying to figure it out. I think I spent most of it curled up in bed, praying for the sweet release of death.”

“You were pretty wrecked,” Sully agrees. Nate just shudders theatrically and takes a drink of rum. “I eventually found a friend-of-a-friend willing to give us an advance on a job in Mexico, and we were able to leave.” He sighs. “And that, my dear, is why Nate and I can't stand the sight of tequila.”

Elena nods slowly. “'Cause you were idiots and got played like a couple of fiddles?”

“Yeah,” Nate says. “Pretty much.”


	13. Elena and Chloe, hostages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena and Chloe reach something of an understanding while Lazarevic is holding them hostage. Set during Uncharted 2.

Elena winces as Flynn shoves Nate off the ledge. Dammit. She's hard-pressed to think of how this could be any worse without anyone dying. And that option certainly isn't off the table. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head a bit. No. They'll figure out something. They'll find a way out of this. She is _not_ dying here.

She glances around at the soldiers holding them captive. They've all got their weapons drawn, but they're keeping their distance from her and Chloe. Lazarevic himself is near the ledge, watching Nate and Flynn's progress across the chasm and speaking to a couple of his lieutenants. Elena looks over at Chloe and frowns slightly. She's not entirely sure she trusts the other woman, but right now, she's the only ally she's got. “You all right?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

Chloe glances at her sideways without turning her head. “Fantastic,” she mutters. “Waiting for execution is definitely the high point of my day.”

“We'll be fine,” Elena says. “We'll figure out something.”

Chloe scoffs. “If you've got a plan for getting out of here, I'm all ears.” Elena sighs and looks away. She doesn't have any kind of plan, truth be told. Chloe glances at her, then rolls her eyes. “That's what I thought.”

Elena glares at her. “Fine. You can sit back and wait to be shot, but I'm not going down without a fight.”

Chloe huffs out a faint laugh. “I see why he likes you.”

Elena's not entirely sure if that's a compliment or not, so she decides not to respond. “You've been working with Lazarevic for a while, right?” she murmurs. Chloe's jaw twitches, but she nods. “Know anything that might help us get away?”

Chloe shifts her weight and stares at the warlord's back. “He loves his theatrics,” she replies. “If someone's going to be executed, he has to make a production of it.” She glances over at Elena again. “Probably why left you and Nate alive.”

Elena swallows hard. “Didn't make much of a production out of killing Jeff.”

Chloe cringes. “I-I'm sorry.”

Elena's not sure what she's sorry for-- Jeff's death, turning on them, wanting to leave him behind in the first place-- and regardless, this isn't the time or the place to get into it. The silence stretches out uncomfortably before Chloe speaks up again. “The three of us, though, you and me and Nate, we've been enough of an annoyance that he'll want to do something dramatic.” Chloe sighs. “Trust me.”

Elena shrugs. “Dramatic means time,” she says. She glances around at their guards; they seem aware that she and Chloe are talking, but they must not be able to hear the whispered conversation, as they're not making any move to stop them. She glances back at Lazarevic. He's loaded down with weapons, but she knows from her research that he favors the shotgun. “If we get enough distance, a shotgun shell won't kill us,” she murmurs.

Chloe shakes her head. “We don't even know what's on the other side,” she replies.

“Shambhala's supposed to be a city.” Elena squints out at the vast chasm. She thinks she can see movement on the far side, but it's hard to tell. “If nothing else, it's room to run.”

“Probably half-collapsed,” Chloe adds. “That might be to our advantage, though. Plenty of places to hide.”

“So that's the plan,” Elena says. “Hope for a distraction and run.”

Chloe smiles crookedly. “Not much of a plan.”

“Better than just waiting to be killed, though.”

Chloe's quiet for a few moments. “You're not just a journalist, are you,” she asks, her voice tinged with something that might be respect.

Elena looks over at her and shrugs. “No, I am,” she replies. “I'm just the type that begs her producer to let her go into a war zone to chase after rumors of supposedly-dead warlords.”

“Crazy?” Chloe says, and yeah, that's definitely respect.

“Investigative.” Elena pauses for a beat. “Same thing, really.”

The grin on Chloe's face makes Elena think that in any other situation, she'd be laughing. “Right. Well, like I said, I can--”

Whatever else she was going to say is lost in the sudden crash of water and the grinding of stone on stone as the platforms circle back. “Move!” Lazarevic barks. The guards move in closer, herding her and Chloe towards the newly formed bridge. Elena glances at Chloe; she gives her a tiny nod, and they fall in step as they head towards the gates.


	14. Harry, at the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't the plan. He didn't want it to end like this. Harry Flynn, at the end.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Harry slumps against the pillar and stares dumbly at the hole in his chest. He can feel blood pouring down his skin, soaking into his clothes, and he raises his free hand to prod at the edges of the wound. Must've just missed his heart. So he'll die slower.

Zoran's a damn good shot.

This wasn't the plan. The plan was... the plan was... find the stone, get paid, get away. Find somewhere to go, away from Zoran and Chloe and Nathan _fucking_ Drake. He had a plan. Turns out, Lazarevic had one of his own.

“Oh, fuck me,” Harry mutters and almost laughs at the karma of it all. He thought he was in control, the one using Drake and Chloe and shit, he even thought he was playing Lazarevic, for a while. Using them all to get the reward he'd been working his whole bloody life for. And now he's gonna bleed out in some worthless ancient ruin.

He glances at the grenade clutched tight in his hand. The least Drake could do is hurry. Zoran had the decency to give him one last shot at revenge before leaving him to die, and if Harry bleeds out before Drake shows up... Well. It's not like he'll be able to do anything about it. Since he'll be dead.

Shit, he's _dying._

Harry lets his head fall back against the pillar. He's dying and no one's going to care. His father's long dead-- he'll probably see the asshole in hell-- and he hasn't spoken to his brothers since he ran away fifteen years ago. This line of work, you don't make a lot of friends, and the few you do have a tendency to end up dead. Or they betray you. Or somewhere along the line, you start to hate them, because everything you struggle for falls into his lap like it was nothing, he gets everything Harry's fought for and he doesn't even have the decency to _notice_.

He turns to look towards the stairs. “C'mon, Drake,” he growls, tasting blood. His knees buckle, and he sinks to the floor, groaning. “Son of a bitch...” Not like this. He can't go out like this, not yet, not yet...

His vision goes grey, and time goes sorta funny for a bit, and he doesn't quite come back to himself until voices penetrate the fog in his head. It takes longer for Harry to figure out who the voices belong to, but when he does, he manages a savage grin.

It takes almost all his remaining strength to push himself to his feet. Harry leans against the pillar and forces himself to circle around it, back towards the room. And there they are, all three of them, Drake and Chloe and that other woman who'd been with Drake, the one he'd seemed so attached to. God, of course the asshole would have another woman; can't be satisfied with stealing Chloe, no, he's gotta have a piece on the side.

“The black teeth, on those guardian things and the bodies in Borneo,” Drake says. “They ate the resin and it... changed them, somehow.”

“And you think that's what Lazarevic is planning to do,” Chloe says. Ever the skeptic. She never quite bought any of this Shambhala stuff. And even now that she's standing in the middle of it, she won't believe. Harry almost smiles. That's his girl.

“You really want to wait around and find out?” Drake asks.

Well, here it is. His final scene. Better make it good. “Bravo, Sherlock.” Drake and Chloe whirl around and draw on him. He doesn't care. First time someone's pulled a gun on him that he hasn't felt a tremor of fear. It's good to be a little scared when someone's threatening to kill you, normally, unless of course you've already been shot. “Well done.” Harry staggers around the pillar, hiding the grenade against his leg. Gotta be careful. Can't let them see.

Drake's eyes go wide. “Flynn?” He looks him up and down. “Jesus.”

“Oh, Harry...” Chloe almost sounds sad. That's nice of her. He's not sure if she's pretending or not, but at least it'll let him believe that she might give half a damn when he's gone.

“What's the matter, mate,” Harry continues as he slides back to the floor. Not getting up again. Not... not ever. “Disappointed Lazarevic beat you to it?” He shifts his legs a bit, stretches them out. Might as well die comfortable. “Afraid you just missed him. Figured I'd stay behind and wait for you to come join my little party.”

“What're you talkin' about?” Drake asks.

Cleaning up loose ends. Get rid of Harry, get rid of Drake and his friends... Harry chuckles. “Maybe that's what ol' Zoran wanted all along,” he says. Bastard played him but good. “He's cleverer than he looks.”

Drake and Chloe have the sense to hang back, but the other woman, the reporter, she moves closer. “We can still stop him,” she says.

“Elena, don't--” Drake says. Ah. So that's her name. Elena. Pretty name. Pretty girl, punching aside. She's got a mean right hook. No wonder Drake likes her.

“No, we can help you,” she says. She's close, now, just a few feet away, and God, she actually believes it. Harry can see it in her eyes, she actually believes that they can win this.

What an idiot.

“Sorry, love,” he says. “This isn't a movie, and you're not the plucky girl who reforms the villain and saves the day.” Zoran wouldn't want to be saved. And Harry knows it's too late for him, even if he did want it. “It's just not done like that.” Be easier if it was. Shit, he's dying, he'll admit it, he wishes she was right. This isn't how it was supposed to end.

No choice left, though. He's getting cold, now, and the hole in his chest doesn't hurt. He can't even feel the blood flowing out anymore. Maybe there's none left. “Flynn, listen to me--” Drake takes a step forward, half-lowers the gun, like maybe he's going to offer his help too, and Harry'll be damned if he's going to let that happen.

Well. Damned anyway, really. But he's got some pride. He jerks his arm upright, revealing the grenade, and they all fall back a step. Elena's still too close. Stupid, stupid girl. “Parting gift from Lazarevic,” he says. He doesn't have the strength to throw it, but it'll be a decent-sized blast. Probably take out Elena, slow Drake and Chloe down. Lazarevic will finish them off.

He wishes there was some kind of satisfaction in the thought.

“Pity he took the pin.” It's surprisingly easy, considering how hard he's been holding onto it, to open his hand and let the grenade fall. It'll be over quick, at least, with the explosion going off practically in his lap. Elena recoils, Drake and Chloe shout something, and Harry closes his eyes.

He didn't want it to end like this. God help him, he didn't want this.


	15. Chloe, not really a hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe's just not the hero type, you know? Set towards the end of Uncharted 2.

Chloe’s never really thought of herself as a hero. Never had reason to. She’s a thief and a smuggler and a heartbreaker, the sort of woman who looks out for herself first and anyone else if she can manage it. That doesn’t make her a bad person, most of the time, but it also doesn’t really make her good. Definitely not heroic.

So she’s more than a little out of her element as she stands in a snow-covered monastery in Tibet, watching as Nate begs an unconscious Elena to hang on, to stay with him, to be okay, please. This is the part that no one talks about, what comes after the world-saving. What comes after watching a man she’d cared about, once, blow himself up in a last-ditch attempt at revenge—

Chloe shakes her head and shoves all thoughts of Harry down. She’ll deal with it later, mourn him later, but right now they need to get out of here. She presses her fingers to Elena’s neck, and after a few moments, manages to find a pulse. It’s weak but steady. “Nate,” she says. He doesn’t look up. “ _Nate_.” Her tone finally gets his attention, and he drags his gaze away from Elena. “We have to get out of here,” she says. “Find help for her.” And for the two of them—Nate looks like hell, and Chloe’s pretty sure she looks just as bad.

Nate swallows hard and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, there’s—there’s trucks, at the front of the monastery. The road’s a straight drive back to the village, we can take her there.”

Chloe grimaces. “Do they have a doctor or a phone?” Elena’s pretty bad off, and somehow she doubts that a mountain village is going to have the resources to help.

Nate shrugs and stands up. “They kept me from dying after Flynn—after the train,” he says, and Chloe can’t tell if he winces because of his injuries or because of the name. He and Harry were friends once, too. He carefully picks up Elena, cradling her against his chest, and nods at one of the many guns lying in the snow. “Cover me?”

“You really expecting trouble?” Chloe asks, but goes to grab a nearby assault rifle anyway.

Somehow, Nate manages a weary smirk. “Always,” he says, and starts for the stairs. Chloe checks the clip on her gun and follows.


	16. Nate/Elena, history lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate and Elena share some pieces of history. Set sometime after Drake's Fortune.

“You're seriously doing your taxes?” Elena asks, sprawled out across Nate's couch, her legs dangling over the arm. It's only the second time she's visited him in all the months they've known each other. But she'd been passing through Miami and decided to take a brief vacation down to Key West to see her long-distance not-boyfriend.

Nate shuffles through a stack of papers. “Of course not,” he replies, smiling triumphantly when he pulls out the page he wants. “I'm finding all the paperwork I need to send to the shady accountant Sully and I use to put together something that looks mostly legal.” Nate tucks the paper into a folder and tosses the rest of the stack into an open drawer on his desk. “As far as the government's concerned, Sully and I run an international shipping business.”

She laughs. “Small business owners, living the American dream?”

“Somethin' like that.” He gestures at the folder. “We tell her how much money we made, and she does lots of illegal things to make it look like we earned it all legitimately.”

Elena grins. “Not gonna get busted like Capone, huh?”

Nate glances over at her, brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Al Capone.” The puzzled expression doesn't leave his face. Elena blinks. “Chicago gangster, ran one of the biggest mobs during Prohibition, he's one of the most famous criminals in American history...”

Nate shrugs and spins his chair away from the desk. “Most of the history I'm looking at is a few centuries older.”

“Unless Nazis are involved.”

He smirks. “Well. They do have this annoying tendency to crop up everywhere in my line of work.”

Elena chuckles. “I can't believe you haven't heard of Capone,” she says. “Did you not pay attention in history class?”

Nate glances away for a split second, and Elena suddenly has the feeling she's just stuck her foot in her mouth. “More like I never went,” he says. “I didn't go to college. Or high school. Technically, I didn't actually finish eighth grade.”

She blinks at him. “Really?” she asks, sitting up on her elbows.

He shrugs and hooks one arm over the back of his chair. “I ran away when I was pretty young,” he says, which tells her a lot and nothing all at once. “Lived on the streets for a while before Sully and I ran into each other. I didn't really have time for formal education.”

“Oh.” Elena frowns slightly. Nate's very secretive about his past-- anything before age seventeen or eighteen, and he deflects or changes the subject. This is the first time he's really told her anything directly about his childhood.

“That bother you?” Nate asks, his gaze fixed just to the left of her face. He doesn't look embarrassed, just... apprehensive. Like maybe he's told other people this and they've thought less of him.

Clearly, they didn't know him very well. Elena snorts and flops back down onto the couch. “I don't need to see a piece of paper to know you're smart,” she says. “The whole sight-reading sixteenth-century Spanish settled that one pretty well.” 

He grins, and she can see some of the tension leave his shoulders. “I do have a fake high school diploma around here somewhere,” he says, waving a hand at the room. “The school burned down a couple years after I'd 'graduated.' Lost all their records.”

“Nice.” Elena's pretty sure that she should be a little more bothered by the fact that Nate's casually admitting to forging all sorts of legal documents, but, well, she's dating a thief. She has to check what few law-abiding tendencies she has at the door.

“So, what were you saying about this Capone guy and taxes?” Nate asks, neatly changing the subject.

Elena's happy to let him. “Oh. Well, the Feds knew he was into racketeering and smuggling and mass murderers and other organized crime, but they could never prove it. When he finally got caught and arrested, it was for tax fraud.”

Nate makes a face. “Ugh, no. Definitely not going out like that.” He pats the folder. “Our shady accountant is very good.”

“That's good to hear,” Elena says. “You'd look terrible in orange.”

“Eh, Sully'd spring me from prison,” he replies. “Again.”

Elena laughs and leverages herself up off the couch. “I don't want to know, do I,” she says as she walks towards him.

Nate just gives her a crooked smile. “Probably not.” Elena just shrugs, willing to let that subject drop as well, especially since she has a much more fun idea in mind. Nate raises his eyebrows when she settles herself on his legs, straddling him with her arms draped loosely over his shoulders. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Elena idly toys with the hair at the nape of his neck and smirks a bit when Nate leans into the touch. “If you're done with your paperwork,” she says, “I was thinking we could maybe make the most of the thirty-one hours before my flight leaves.”

He grins and loops his arms around her waist. “I hope you didn't have your heart set on involving this chair,” he says. “'Cause I think I paid twenty bucks for it and I'm pretty sure it would collapse under us.”

“The couch _is_ right there, you know.”


	17. Nate/Elena, making dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate is really, really not allowed to cook. Post-Uncharted 3. 
> 
> Ye gods, this is aggressively domestic.

Nate leans against the counter, watching as Elena dumps pasta into the pot of water on the stove. For once, they're actually both going to be home long enough to justify buying groceries, instead of just ordering takeout for a few nights before their next flight. “I've broken into palaces, you know,” he says.

Elena glances over her shoulder at him. “Uh-huh...”

“Survived plane crashes. Train wrecks. Navigated inhospitable terrain and made it out alive.”

“I'm familiar with your résumé.”

“I'm a competent, capable person.”

Elena shakes her head. “And your point is?”

Nate points at the stove. “Why am I not allowed to help cook?”

She huffs out a laugh and adjusts the heat, then turns around to face him. “Nate. Darling. Light of my life.”

He sighs. “Oh, god.”

“I love you very, very much, so please take this in the nicest way possible,” Elena says, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You are the single-most destructive person I have ever met.”

Nate makes a face. “That's a little overdramatic--”

“You lit the stove on fire.”

“It was--”

“While boiling _water_.”

He heaves a sigh and rests his hands on her shoulders. “It only happened once.”

“Yes. Because I banned you from cooking after that.” Elena smirks up at him.

“I just feel bad, making you cook all the time,” Nate says.

“You don't _make_ me do anything,” Elena replies as she steps back. “I cook for us as an act of self-defense.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “Again, overdramatic.”

Elena crouches by one of the cabinets and pulls out a small pot. “Do you want me to start listing off all the things that have blown up around you?” she says. “I like this house, Nate. I don't want it to burn to the ground. Especially since we just got everything unpacked, like, last week.”

“Actually, I think there might still be a few boxes in the hall closet?”

“Oh, goddammit.”

Nate can't help but laugh at the defeated tone in her voice. “You sure there's nothing I can do to help?”

Elena points at the counter. “You can open that jar for me.”

“...somehow, I don't feel like that's an equal contribution.”

“You can clean up after dinner if it'll make you feel better.”

Nate twists the lid off and passes the jar to her. “It might, actually.”

She giggles and sets the jar aside, ignoring it in favor of pulling Nate in for a hug. “You're ridiculous.”

“...ly handsome?” he tries, and she laughs again. He grins at her when she tilts her head back to look up at him. Then something hisses on the stove, and Nate glances over the top of her head. “Pot's boiling over,” he says, and Elena springs away from him with a yelp. “I really could help--”

“Shut up. And get plates out.”


	18. Nate/Elena, keeping score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my tags on [this post](http://rhiannon42.tumblr.com/post/39660970805/im-never-crossing-a-bridge-with-you-again) and a direct follow-up to this [prompt fill](../../434367/chapters/1120049).

“I think I’m winning,” Nate comments and lightly taps Elena’s boot with his own.

She glances over at him, both unwilling and partially unable to turn her head. They’re sitting in the waiting room of a small clinic, waiting for the doctor to finish checking out Chloe. Sully’s wandered off somewhere, probably to flirt with the nurses. Elena’s covered in scrapes and bruises and pulled muscles, and she’s got a neat line of stitches running up her left shoulder. At least the scars are all collecting on the same side, she thinks. “Winning what?”

“Rescues.”

Elena stares at him. “Okay, one, you are _not_ winning, and two, I can’t believe you keep score.”

He smirks. “Oh? And if you’re not keeping score, how do you know I’m not winning?”

“Because I just do!” Elena turns in her chair to face him. “I’ve rescued you way more.”

“Oh, really.”

She raises her eyebrows in challenge and starts ticking off items on her fingers. “Kept you from getting shot by mercenaries when I found you in the Amazon.”

“What? That doesn’t count!”

“It totally counts! You didn’t have a gun, and if I hadn’t grabbed you, those guys would have shot you in the back.”

Nate shakes his head. “You punched me. It doesn’t count.”

“Oh, please. You deserved that punch.”

He makes a face. “Okay, I’ll count that as half. But I get full credit for shooting that guy with the grenade launcher.”

“And then landing yourself in prison, where I saved you.”

“I don’t know if I was in mortal danger--” Elena gives him a look, and he relents. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you that one.”

“Then,” Elena continues, “I kept you from falling off the back of the Jeep--”

“Uh, I wouldn’t have needed saving if you’d been a better driver--”

“I didn’t hear you giving any better directions--”

“I was shooting trucks with a grenade launcher!” Nate hisses. “I couldn’t see where we were going half the time.”

She rolls her eyes. “And yet you could still yell at me about every damn cliff we happened to get close to. I’m counting the Jeep.”

“Well, fine,” Nate says. “Then I get credit for getting us away from Eddy.”

“No, ‘cause that saved both of us, and that’s just gonna throw off the count completely,” Elena says. “It only counts if the person doing the saving wasn’t also in mortal peril.”

“Oh, sure, now you make up rules, I see how it is--”

“So the next time I saved you was when I lowered that rope to get you away from the zombie things,” she interrupts and looks at Nate expectantly.

He blinks at her. “What?”

“I’m waiting for you to argue that one.”

“Oh, no, that one you get. Totally saved my ass.” He pauses for a beat, then continues, “Though it wouldn’t have killed you to move a little faster.” Elena sighs. “And you skipped over the part where I saved you from falling off that bridge,” Nate adds.

“Okay, yes, you legitimately get that point,” Elena agrees.

“And I saved you from the burning helicopter.”

Elena scoffs. “Uh, no. One, I was already mostly conscious, and the helicopter wasn’t in danger of falling over the side. I’d have gotten out fine on my own. You just helped. And two, I saved you from getting shot while you were clinging to the side of the statue by kicking the guy with the gun out of the chopper.”

Nate mulls this over, then nods. “Okay, fine. So that’s…” He pauses, trying to do the math in his head. “Four and a half for you, and… wait, two for me? That can’t be right.” 

Elena grins triumphantly. “No, that sounds about right.”

“Okay, but what about all those guys I shot,” Nate says. “That should at least get me another point.”

“And all the guys I shot?”

“…half a point?” Elena glares at him, and he spreads his hands. “What, it’ll make your score a nice even number. And you’ll still be winning.”

“Fine. Five to three. On the first day we spent together. I’m winning.”

Nate huffs out a breath. “You can’t be winning.”

“I’m absolutely winning,” Elena says. “Do you really want to keep going? Because I’m pretty sure if we jump ahead to Nepal, you’ll find that I saved your ass several times.”

He sighs and slouches back in his chair. “Fine. You’re winning.”

“Damn right I am.”

“But I want credit for hauling you and Chloe out of that oubliette today.”

“Mm, half-credit. You can share with Sully.”


	19. Nate/Elena, umbrellas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly little piece of domestic fluff. Because there are few things I love as much as Nate/Elena domestic fluff. Set between UC2 and UC3, before the wedding. The umbrella Nate mentions is [a real thing](http://real-self-defense.com/unbreakable-umbrella/), too.

Elena sets her laptop on the coffee table and gets to her feet when she hears the sound of Nate fiddling with the front door lock. The lock sticks horribly, and her landlord still hasn't done anything about it. She unlocks the door and pulls it open, and immediately finds herself torn between pity and laughter. “So, um,” she says, fighting back a grin, “it's raining?”

The withering look Nate gives her is somewhat lessened by the fact that his hair is dripping water into his eyes. “Just a bit,” he replies acerbically.

Elena steps aside to let him come in. “You know, there's these things called umbrellas...”

“Lost mine,” Nate replies as he drops his bag on the floor. “Two years ago. In Johannesburg.”

She raises an eyebrow and holds out a hand. “They sell umbrellas, like, everywhere, Nate. Including the airport.”

“It was a hundred-and-twenty dollar combat umbrella,” he says as he passes her the jacket. “The Presidential secret service in the Philippines uses them. You can break someone's wrist with one, you hit them hard enough. I can't just replace that with one from the airport.”

“And you haven't bought a new, fancy attack umbrella because...?” Elena asks. She hangs up his jacket on the coat rack and wipes her hands off on her jeans.

Nate shrugs. “I don't remember that I need one until it's raining.” He tugs off his shoes and dumps the soaked yellow Converse in the corner. Elena sighs. She hates the ugly things, but Nate is irrationally attached to them. Regardless of the fact that they get drenched if he stands too close to puddles and are, you know, yellow.

“Well, now I know what to get you for Christmas,” she replies dryly. Nate chuckles and runs his hands through his hair, spiking it up every which way. Elena chuckles and wraps her arms around his waist. “Other than getting rained on, your trip go okay?” she asks.

Nate nods and pulls her into a proper hug. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Tracked down some Iraqi relics for one of the museums in Baghdad.”

Elena tilts her head back to look up at him. “You didn't tell me you were going to Iraq,” she says. No wonder he was so close-mouthed about this trip. Dammit.

“Well, I met with the guy in Jordan,” he said. “I didn't think I'd be in Iraq.”

“But you were.”

“A bit.”

Hmph. Liar. “You need to work on your poker face,” Elena tells him and leans her head against his chest. She hates it when he does this, lies about his work out of some misguided need to protect her, but she really doesn't feel like having an argument about it right now.

Nate presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Sorry.”

She's not sure what he's apologizing for-- lying, or not being a better liar. Elena closes her eyes for a few seconds, listening to his heartbeat, and resolves to talk to him about the lying and evasiveness later. It wouldn't be the first time they've had the conversation, but maybe this time she can get it into his skull how aggravating it is. Right now, though... well, he's been gone almost a week. She's missed him. The discussion-slash-argument can wait.

“So,” she begins, raising her head to look up at him, “would you think less of me if I used the 'let's get you out of these wet things' line?”

“I'd think less of you if you _didn't._ ”


	20. Nate and Sully, going wrong

It's just after eight in the morning, far, far earlier than Sully prefers to be awake, when someone knocks on his front door. Sully blinks at the clock, picks it up to make sure he's not seeing things, then groans and drags himself out of bed. There's another round of knocking while he's pulling on enough of yesterday's clothes to be decent. “Jesus, keep your shit together, I'm comin',” he grumbles and stomps to the front door. This damn well better be good.

“Hi, Sully,” Nate says when Sully yanks the front door open.

Sully blinks at him. “Nate? What the hell are you doing here?” he asks. He glances around for Elena, but Nate's wife is nowhere in sight. Nate, however, is holding a duffel bag in one hand, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Something like dread starts to coil in Sully's gut.

“I need a place to crash for a while,” Nate says, avoiding Sully's gaze.

Sully hesitates before asking the obvious question. “Why?”

Nate clenches his jaw and raises his eyes, hard and bitter and angry in a way that Sully hasn't seen in years. “I left.”

Somehow, that's worse than what he'd expected to hear, which was that Elena had kicked him out. Sully's got about a hundred questions, but the front door isn't the place to ask them, so he just steps aside to let Nate in. “Mind telling me why?” Sully asks after Nate stomps inside, drops his bag and backpack on the armchair.

“She was-- she wanted me to be something I'm not,” Nate snaps. “She wanted me to give up all of this.” He gestures at his ring. “Wanted me to give up the, the adventuring and all of it and get a fucking desk job or something.”

Sully blinks. It's been a couple months since he's seen Elena, yes, but... “That doesn't sound like the Elena I know,” he says carefully.

“Well, I guess you don't know her that well,” Nate snarls. He's pacing across the living room, shoulders tense, his hands clenching in and out of fists at his sides. Sully hasn't seen him angry like this since he was a kid, all pent-up rage with nowhere to go. “Christ, she knew what I did, who I was, and if she didn't like it then she shouldn't have _married_ me.” He spits the word like a curse.

Sully takes a deep breath, then lets it out slow. Trying to make Nate see reason when he's like this would be slightly less effective than banging his head against a brick wall. “You can crash here as long as you need,” he says. A little of the tension ebbs out of Nate's shoulders. “Still got a bed in your old room, haven't converted it into a gym yet.”

Nate's mouth twitches in something that could be generously described as a smile. “Okay.” He gestures at his backpack. “I brought all my notes and stuff. We can work on the East Indies thing. I think I've got some ideas about where Drake might have actually landed.”

“Uh-huh.” Sully's still not entirely certain that he's on board with this. It's been almost twenty years, for Christ's sake, twenty years since Nate stole the ring out from under Kate's nose, and since then, nothing. Nate talked about it from time to time in those early years, but it never went anywhere. There was always something more immediate to check out, and after a while, Sully just sort of... let it go. Plenty of other treasure to be had.

He thought Nate had let it go, too, until about four months ago. It was like someone flipped a switch in his head, made Drake's East Indies voyage the only thing he could talk about. And yeah, he’s worked with Nate on it, passed along information where he could, but he didn't really think it was gonna go anywhere. Sully rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. “Look, kid, I'm gonna go shower, put on clothes that I didn't wear yesterday. You want coffee, or...?”

“I think I'm just gonna go pass out, actually,” Nate says. “Didn't really sleep on the plane.”

Something's definitely wrong, then. Any commercial plane ride longer than twenty minutes and Nate's out like a light. Sully just nods. Not the time. “Okay,” he says.

Nate grabs his duffel bag and heads for the hall. “Thanks, Sully,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Sully waits until the door closes, then heads back to his bedroom. It'll be fine. The kid's crazy about Elena, he'll come to his senses soon enough. Nate'll crash here for a few days, maybe a week, then he'll realize how badly he screwed up. Then will come the inevitable guilt stage, although with any luck, Sully will be able to badger him into just getting over it and calling Elena to beg for forgiveness. Assuming, of course, she doesn't just show up herself to kick his ass.

Something gives him pause, though, as he shuts the door behind him. He does the math on the time difference between Miami and L.A., figures in the time it would take Nate to get a flight out here, then curses under his breath. Unless the two of them were staying up very, very late, Nate probably just... snuck out. It's five a.m. in L.A., Elena's probably still asleep. She doesn’t know he’s gone yet. Sully swallows hard and picks up his cell phone from the nightstand. That vague feeling of dread has turned into a hard, heavy knot, sitting in the pit of his stomach. He finds Elena's number and taps out a brief message.

_Nate's here. I'm sorry._

He hits send, then sets the phone down. She'll probably call later this morning, Nate will calm down, and they can get this sorted out.

By evening, she hasn't called. By the end of the week, Nate hasn't talked about her. By the end of the month, Sully realizes that things are far, far worse than he guessed.


	21. Elena and Chloe, stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena and Chloe spend some quality time together on a stakeout.

Chloe puts the car in park and leans back in her seat. “White Rolls, right?” she asks.

Elena nods, poking at her tablet. “Yep,” she says and holds up the tablet to show Chloe a picture of the car. It’s the sort of vehicle that just screams money. “Should be parked in the garage. Warr’s in a meeting, and once she leaves, we just follow her back to… wherever she’s keeping the treasure.”

“Yeah.” Chloe sighs. Stakeouts, while an important part of the job, are never entertaining.

“Can’t imagine the upkeep on that thing,” Elena says, eying the photograph.

Chloe snorts. “Probably gets washed after every drive.” Not the kind of car she’d want to be responsible for. Though she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a little part of her that hoped their current car would get wrecked in some spectacular fashion, forcing them to steal the Rolls Royce. They’d have to ditch it fast, of course, but the chance to drive something like that doesn’t come along every day.

Elena switches off her tablet and leans forward to rummage around in her bag. She comes back up with a crinkly bag in her hand. “Gummy bears?” she offers. Chloe glances at her and arches an eyebrow; Elena shrugs. “My go-to stakeout food.”

Chloe huffs out a laugh. “You have to do many stakeouts?” she asks, reaching into the bag to grab a handful.

“Not too often,” Elena replies. “Last one was… sometime last year, I think. Ukranian drug lords who’d branched out into human trafficking. I spent six hours outside a bar in Kiev before they finally left for the safehouse.”

“Must have been a lot of gummy bears,” Chloe comments dryly. Elena chuckles. “Did they get arrested? The Ukranians, I mean.”

Elena tosses a couple pieces of candy in her mouth and nods. “A few of them did,” she says. “Most of ‘em disappeared. The women at the safehouse were rescued, though, so that was something.”

“Mm.” Chloe glances sideways at Elena. It’s been a few years since their first, rather unfortunate meeting in Nepal, but they still don’t know each other very well. Probably because in those years, they’ve only seen each other face-to-face a handful of times. “I forgot sometimes how depressing your job must be,” she says after a few moments of silence.

Elena shrugs again. “It can be kind of bleak sometimes,” she says. “But usually I’m there trying to help people, you know? Get their story out so someone can do something. That makes it a little easier to handle.” She waves a hand at the windshield, presumably indicating the world at large. “And there’re good things, too, people helping each other, things like that. But the heartwarming stuff doesn’t usually make the ten o’clock news.”

Chloe shakes her head and smirks. Elena’s unwavering optimism can be either adorable or painfully naïve, depending on the topic and Chloe’s mood. Right now, it’s more the former.

“What about you, when was your last stakeout?” Elena asks.

“Stakeout, or just sitting in the car for hours waiting on people?” Chloe replies. “Because I spend a lot of time doing that.”

Elena laughs. “Lots of wait and hurry up, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Chloe says. “Last stakeout was a few months ago. Tracking down a fence in St. Petersburg.”

“I’ve never been there,” Elena says thoughtfully. “Spent some time in Moscow, but…”

“It’s nice,” Chloe replies. “Even if I only ever seem to end up there in the dead of winter.”

Elena shudders theatrically. “I spent a week in Moscow in January once,” she says. “Never again. I’m from Florida, I’m not meant for sub-zero temperatures.”

Chloe chuckles and shakes her head, refocusing her attention on the parking garage. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, broken only by the crinkling of the bag as one or the other grabs another handful of gummy bears. Eventually, Elena exhales and turns to look at Chloe. “I’ve got Scrabble on my tablet,” she offers.

“Sounds good.”

Elena switches the tablet on again and keys in her password. “It’ll be nice to play with someone who doesn’t argue about whether or not ‘subtle’ is a legitimate word,” she says, and Chloe just laughs.

 


	22. Nate and Sully, forgeries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Nate's 19th birthday, Sully got him a paper trail. It's much more thoughtful than it sounds.

Nate blinks at the thick envelope that Sully's just dumped in front of him. “What's this?”

“Birthday present,” Sully replies and continues on to the kitchen for his coffee.

Oh. Right. Somehow the day always manages to catch him by surprise. Sully remembers when it is better than he does. He's bought Nate a present for every birthday since they met. This is the third one, and Nate's still not quite sure what to make of it.

He's also still not sure what to get Sully so he can return the favor.

There’s plenty of time to worry about that, though. Nate picks up the envelope and turns it over in his hands, then rips it open. Inside is a manila file folder stuffed with papers. He looks up at Sully and shakes his head. “What is all this?”

“Paper trail,” Sully says as he sits down across from Nate. “You can't live on fake IDs forever.”

“Isn't this all fake?” Nate asks wryly as he pulls the folder out.

Sully shrugs. “Less obviously fake.”

Nate huffs out a laugh and slowly flips through the folder. Social security card, a driver's license to match-- much better than the fake he's been using for the past couple of years-- passport, high school transcripts... Nate pauses to look at those. “Kansas?” he asks, glancing up at Sully. “I'm from _Kansas_?”

“Hey, beggars can't be choosers,” Sully replies. “Wasn't easy, finding a high school that burned down and lost all their records in the last year. My choices were Kansas or Alaska.”

“All right, all right.” Kansas. Not any worse than where he's actually from, anyway. Nate skims over the classes and grades-- he aced history, art, and Latin, apparently, but didn't do so well in math or English. And he has six suspensions. “You couldn't have cleaned up my record a bit?”

“No one would've believed it, kid,” Sully says with a smirk.

“Okay, good point.” He would have gotten suspended, probably for climbing on shit or getting into fights. Then again, if he'd had the kind of life where he'd actually gone to high school, then maybe he wouldn't be the sort of person who climbs to the roof on a whim. Nate shakes his head and flips to the next document. “Huh,” he mutters.

It's a birth certificate. Nathan Drake, born August 24, 1977, at 2:34 p.m., at a hospital in Topeka. No middle name, which Nate's oddly glad for. He runs his fingers over the names of his 'parents' and wonders if Sully made them up, or if he just let the forger invent something. The whole thing's a lie, blended with just enough truth to make it hold together. It's not exactly the version of reality that Nate would have put together for himself, but... it'll work.

“I don't have to, like, tell people I'm from Kansas, right?” Nate asks with a smirk.

Sully chuckles. “I wouldn't,” he says. “Just... hang onto all that. Keep it somewhere you won't lose it. You'll need that stuff, you ever want to buy a house or a car or whatever.” He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of coffee. “And now you can actually open a bank account instead of squirreling your money away under the mattress.”

“It's a duffel bag under the bed, thank you very much,” Nate replies. It's sort of weird to think about that stuff. A bank account and a house are all... permanent. The kind of things that mean he's sticking around. It's easier to run if your cash is already packed.

Still. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. He's nineteen now. He hasn't had to run in four years. He flips the folder shut and looks up at Sully. “Thanks,” he says.

“No problem, kid.” Sully grins at him over the rim of his mug. “So, feel like breaking in the passport? Might have a job in Cyprus.”

Nate grins back. “When do we leave?”


	23. Nate/Elena, sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unapologetic sweet and sappy fluff. Because sometimes you just need your OTP being adorable.

Elena watches from her perch on top of the ruined tower as Nate comes back to the campsite. He stops in the middle and glances around, then turns in a full circle. Elena bites her lip to keep from giggling and wonders how long it'll take him to find her.

“Elena?” he calls, sounding worried, and that kills her plans more or less immediately. It's only funny if he's not freaking out.

“I'd have thought that you of all people would look up,” she calls back. Nate looks up at her; she waves, and even at this distance she can see him grin. He looks up and down the tower, then walks over to start climbing. She crouches down to offer him a hand up once he's close to the relatively intact roof.

“Thanks,” he says with a grin. He brushes his hands off and gives her a quizzical look. “Come up here for a reason?”

Elena gestures to the west. “Nice view.”

Nate follows her gaze, and Elena can't help a smile as his eyes widen a bit. “Oh, wow,” he murmurs, a half-smile of his own crossing his face. She loves that about him-- that after all this time, all the ruins and jungles and sunsets he must have seen, he can still be impressed by this particular combination.

“C'mon.” She tugs at his hand, pulling him towards the low stone wall encircling the roof. There's a brief moment of vertigo as she swings her legs over the side to sit on top of the wall, but she ignores it. As long as she doesn't look down, it's fine. And she knows she won't fall.

Nate sits down next to her, close enough that their knees touch. They stay like that for a while, Nate watching the sunset and Elena watching him. At least until Nate glances over and catches her staring. “So much for the nice view, huh?” he teases.

And yes, it's an easy set-up and it's sappy as all hell, but she's crazy in love with him so what does she care. “Found a better one,” she replies with a grin, and Nate's leaning in for a kiss before she's finished speaking. Elena can feel him smiling against her lips, and she settles one hand on the back of his neck, pulling him just a little bit closer to deepen the kiss.

“This is nice,” he says, still smiling, when they part.

“Mm-hm.” Elena steals another kiss, quick this time, then lets her hand slide down his arm. She takes his left hand in both of hers, runs her thumb over his wedding band. The fading sunlight glints off both their rings. “Almost three years,” she says.

“I know.” Nate huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Almost can't believe it, sometimes.” Elena looks up at him, eyebrows raised, and he quickly continues. “Not-- not like-- I just, I just never thought I'd have this, you know?”

Elena wraps her arm around his and leans her head against his shoulder. “That's 'cause you're an idiot sometimes,” she says as she laces their fingers together.

Nate snorts, and even though she can't see him, she's pretty sure he's rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, this is one time I'm glad to have been wrong.”

“What about the time you thought Sully was moving to Albania to marry an opera singer?”

“Okay, I'm glad I was wrong about that, too.”

“And what about--”

Nate presses a finger to her lips. “Shush. You're ruining the moment.”

Elena giggles. “All right, all right.”

Nate drops his hand back to his lap, and they fall into a comfortable silence. The sun's almost disappeared behind the trees before either of them speaks again. “We should probably head down,” Nate says. “Not gonna be a fun climb in the dark.”

Much as she doesn't want to, Elena sits up and disentangles their arms. “Yeah,” she says. “I'd hate to end this night with a broken leg.”

“That would suck.” Nate clambers back over the wall and holds out a hand to help her. She doesn't  need the help, but she takes it anyway, holds on even after her feet are back on the roof, and pulls him in for another kiss. The angle's much better now; Elena can wrap both arms around him, and they don't have to hold back for fear that someone will lose their balance and fall thirty feet.

“Okay,” Elena says when they eventually come up for air, “now we should climb down.”

“Yeah.” Nate reluctantly lets her go, and Elena slips past him to start the climb back to the ground.


	24. Nate/Elena, snuggling for warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena gets cold really easily.

Elena burrows under the covers, hissing a bit at the cold sheets. Vancouver in winter is very pretty, but also unbelievably cold. She’s quite ready for this conference to be over so they can go back home to Miami, where the weather is sensible. None of this below-freezing nonsense. She still hasn’t figured out why people voluntarily live here.

“We are never staying in a hotel without an in-room thermostat again,” Nate declares. He finishes checking the locks on the door and heads for bed.

Elena pokes her head up over the top of the blankets. “You picked it,” she pointed out.

“And for that, I sincerely apologize,” Nate says as he climbs into bed. Elena rolls over to wrap herself around him, which Nate seems okay with, right up until she wedges her cold feet under his legs and slides her hands under his shirt. He yelps and tries to push her off. “Oh, god, no, no no no, go away.”

Elena just hooks her legs around his. “No. You’re warm.” He’s almost always warmer than she is. It can make cuddling a little unpleasant on hot summer nights, but right now? It’s perfect.

Nate stops struggling and drops his head against the pillows. “Why is this happening?” he whines.

“‘Cause you married me.”

“Bullshit.” Nate makes another futile attempt to scoot away. “Having to put up with your icy limbs was nowhere in the marriage contract.”

“Was too.” Elena snuggles closer and settles her head on his shoulder. “There was fine print. On the second page.”

“There was only one page!”

“Says you.”

“Argh.” Nate heaves a sigh, seeming to give up. “I’ll get revenge for this somehow. Just you wait.”

Elena chuckles. “Well, you could do that,” she says. “Or I could make it up to you.” She trails one hand down his chest.

Nate reaches up and grabs her wrist through the fabric of his t-shirt. “If you put your cold hands down my shorts, I am taking the blankets and sleeping on the floor.”

“You’re no fun.” Elena pouts. Then, after a couple seconds, raises her head to look at him so he can see her pouting.

Nate wrinkles his nose at her. “Stop that.” Elena just pouts more and adds sad puppy eyes to the mix. He huffs out a breath and raises his head to kiss her. What’s probably meant to be one kiss turns into two, then three, then Nate rolls them so Elena’s on her back. She disentangles one hand from his shirt to settle on the back of his neck; he shivers but doesn’t complain.

“Guess this is a better way of warming me up, hm?” Elena asks breathlessly.

“Much better.” Nate presses kisses to her throat, his lips hot against her skin, then raises his head to look back at her. “Your hands are still not warm enough to be under my clothes.”

“Uh-huh.”


	25. Nate/Elena, bandages and stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's sort of becoming routine, to come back from an adventure like this.

Nate always prefers hotels with multiple entrances. At first, Elena thought it was a bad idea, but after all this time, it makes sense. Yes, it means that there’s more ways for potential threats to get in, but it also means there’s more ways for them to get out. No one can block them in at the front door.

It also means that they don’t have to go past the lobby and the front desk when they come back around midnight, covered in blood and dirt.

Nate limps over the bed and sits down on the edge. Elena makes sure the door’s locked, then digs the first aid kit out of her suitcase. Starting to get low on bandages again. She’ll need to restock once they’re back home.

With a groan, Nate peels off his shirt—and peeling really is the accurate word, there’s enough blood and mud and sweat and God knows what else soaked into the fabric. “That’s a loss,” Nate mutters and drops it on the floor.

Elena sighs and gives him a critical once-over. “You really should shower before I try patching you up,” she says.

Despite his injuries, Nate still manages a sly smile at her. “You need to shower, too,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “Why is it you only propose showering together when we’re both injured?”

“Actually,” Nate says, grunting in pain as he swings his foot up to his knee so he can start untying his boot, “I’m pretty sure I suggest it almost every time you use the word ‘shower.’”

“That’s probably true,” Elena says. “I would take you up on the offer if I didn’t feel like eighty percent of my body is bruised.”

He glances over at her in concern. “You sure you’re--”

“Nate, I’m fine,” she says. She’s sore and yes, very bruised, and a bit scraped up in places, but nothing terrible. “You took the worst of it.”

“I usually do,” he says, and there’s no trace of wry humor in the statement. Elena brushes her fingers against the back of his neck, one of the few places that isn’t sporting some kind of injury.

He manages to get his other boot off, then strips out of his jeans, pausing to admire the spectacular bruise just above his right knee. “That is gonna turn some interesting colors,” Nate mutters and pushes himself to his feet. “Back in a few.”

“Don’t fall down and die.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and Elena starts to pull off her own clothes to assess the damage. There had been a lot of climbing, a lot of running, and a lot more falling and shooting than she’d have liked. She couldn’t say she was surprised, but… well, she wouldn’t have minded things going smoothly, for once. She drops her boots on the floor next to Nate’s and tosses her mud-encrusted socks into the pile of clothes she’s mentally marked as ‘potentially salvageable.’ The other pile, which currently consists only of Nate’s shirt, is the one that will get tossed into the next available dumpster.

Elena slowly unbuttons her shirt and pulls it off with a fair amount of pain and wincing. She holds it up, regards the rips and bloodstains and mud, then wearily tosses it on top of Nate’s. She’s learned not to get overly attached to clothes, and the few things that she is attached to don’t come on trips like this. The camisole she’s wearing underneath is in even worse shape.

She’s gingerly prodding at an ugly scrape below her left collarbone when Nate emerges from the shower. He looks a little better, though the fact that some of his wounds are still bleeding (and leaving red streaks on the towel, another item for the dumpster pile) isn’t a good sign. “C’mere,” she says, waving a hand at him.

He frowns at her, brow creasing in worry as he looks over her mostly bare and heavily bruised torso. “Do you want to…” He points at the bathroom and trails off.

“Once I get you bandaged up,” she says. “Otherwise you’ll make it worse trying to get to the ones on your back and bleed all over everything.”

Nate laughs and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, don’t want the hotel call the cops thinking there’d been a murder,” he says. “Again.”

“Seriously?” Elena asks, dragging the first aid kit with her as she scoots behind him.

“Yeah. It was, uh, well.” Nate hesitates for a second, and Elena’s mentally betting that this is a story involving one of his ex-girlfriends when he continues. “Job I pulled with Flynn, a while back.”

Oh. Elena finishes taping a bandage over one of the smaller cuts on his lower back. “Yeah?” she prompts. Nate always seems to avoid talking about Flynn around her, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the fact that Flynn almost killed her or because his former friend’s betrayal still hurts. It bothers him more than her, truth be told. She didn’t know Flynn, only interacted with him twice, and it’s not like she has any particularly bad reactions to hearing about him. Grenades themselves are more of a problem than the man who tried to kill her with one.

“It was, ah, this job we did in Oslo,” Nate says after a few seconds. Elena reaches around him to steal the towel and uses it to dab blood off his back. The towel’s already a lost cause, may as well put it to good use. “We’d split up, and I got back to the hotel first. Flynn’s an hour late and shows up covered in blood. Somebody’d tried to kneecap him and missed, winged him in the calf.”

Elena hisses through her teeth. She’s seen how badly a leg wound like that can bleed.

“Yeah,” Nate says. “Jackass refused to go to a hospital, so we got him as patched up as we could, but he still got blood on, you know, everything.” He shakes his head. Elena tapes a bandage over the gash on his side, then moves to the edge of the bed. She lightly pushes at his shoulder to turn him to face her and starts in on the injuries on his chest. Nate stops his story and looks down at her. “I could get those, you know,” he says.

Elena glances up at him. “You really complaining about me having my hands all over you?” she asks with a smirk.

He smirks back. “Good point.”

Elena cleans off a shallow bullet graze along his ribs. If he hadn’t turned when he did, it would have gone straight into his lung. She swallows hard and grabs another bandage. “So, you were saying?” she says. The story’s a good distraction.

“Oh, yeah. Well, we went out the next morning to grab breakfast and do recon, and, uh, I guess we both thought the other one had put out the do not disturb sign? ‘Cause when we got back there was a homicide detective there wanting to know who’d been killed in our room.”

Elena laughs in spite of herself. “Oh, god.”

“Yeah. The maid saw all the blood and freaked. Harry managed to come up with a good story about the cut on his leg, something about ice, and they got everything sorted out in a couple hours. Didn’t even break the fake IDs.”

“And then you made off with the treasure and flew off, rich and prosperous?”

“Uh, well, no. The guys that shot Harry were waiting for us and we ended up having to flee the country,” Nate says.

“Ah, so a typical job for you, then,” Elena teases as she tapes the last bandage into place.

Nate makes a face at her. “I pull of plenty of successful heists, thank you very much.”

“And sometimes you even manage to turn a profit.” Elena smirks at him. “My turn. Gonna shower, and then you can take care of me.”

“Okay.” Nate leans in and kisses her, light and quick, then moves back so she can stand up. “I’m gonna think about finding clean clothes.”

“Think about?”

“Yeah, well. My bag’s all the way over there.”

Elena just laughs and shuts the bathroom door behind her.


	26. Nate/Elena, Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate and Elena figure out how to spend their first Valentine's Day as an "official" couple. Sully helps. Sort of. (Set shortly after UC2.)

“Do you like Valentine's Day?”

Elena blinks at her laptop screen, then slowly raises her eyes to look up at Nate. He's leaning around the door frame and watching her with expectant curiosity. “Um,” Elena says. “I'm indifferent, mostly?”

“So you won't be upset if we don't do anything special.”

“Uh. No.” This is one of the stranger conversations she's had with Nate. Which really says something about their relationship, given that they've had multiple conversations about their personal encounters with both El Dorado and Shambhala. “Why?”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, presumably indicating the living room and his computer. “Sully mentioned that it was coming up and asked if we were doing anything, and then implied that I was doomed when I said I didn't know.” Nate pauses for a moment. “He might have just been screwing with me.”

“You think?” Elena teases. “Sully's good for many things, but I don't think advice on long-term relationships is one of them.”

She's inwardly relieved when Nate doesn't even blink at the phrase 'long-term.' “True. I think the longest he's ever been involved with a woman was four months. And that was over ten years ago.”

“My point exactly,” Elena says. “Unless _you_ want to do something, I'm happy staying in and watching a movie or something.”

“Cool.” Nate disappears around the doorframe, only to pop back into view a second later, a grin on his face. “Might get you flowers.”

She laughs. “Flowers are nice,” she says. The fact that Nathan Drake is secretly (or maybe not so secretly) a total romantic is really, really endearing. He's brought her flowers a couple times, 'just because,' and he leaves little sketches tucked in her laptop or books sometimes. It doesn't seem to be an affectation, either, it's too spontaneous for that. It gives her all sorts of warm, squishy feelings, even if she'd never admit it to anyone but him.

He brightens visibly and disappears again. Elena shakes her head, then reaches over and grabs her phone. _You're perpetuating a hyper-commercialized and patriarchal conception of romance, you know,_ she types out, then sends the text to Sully.

It only takes about thirty seconds to get a reply. _what the hell elena_

She chuckles. That's about the response she expected. _Stop confusing Nate with your Valentine's Day talk._

_i am teaching him the ways of romance you should be thanking me_

Elena has to push her laptop onto the bed so she can double over with laughter at that. Once she's mostly calmed down and wiped the tears from her eyes, she picks up her phone again to reply. _One, he doesn't need lessons. Two, what exactly are YOUR plans for Valentine's Day, Mr. Romance?_

About a minute passes before he replies. _of course he doesnt he learned from the best. picking up sad single women at the bar what else_

“Okay, seriously, the policy briefings can't be that hilarious,” Nate says from the doorway. Elena shakes her head, unable to speak around the giggling, and he smirks. “Do I even want to know?”

Elena tosses him her phone. “Your best friend is-- is something,” she says. She's not entirely sure _what_ Sully is, but, you know. Something.

“Yes, he is,” Nate replies dryly and scrolls back through her texts. He raises his eyebrows, then snorts and starts laughing himself. “If you're gonna thank anyone, it should be me for having the sense to ignore most of his advice,” he says.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Elena says and holds her hand out.

Nate tosses the phone back, then leans against the doorframe as she starts typing out another text. “Dare I ask?”

“Just wishing him the best of luck with his plans,” she says and hits send.

“He’ll need it,” Nate replies, then wanders back down the hall, still chuckling. Elena picks up her laptop again and makes it through half a paragraph when her phone buzzes.

_id wish you luck too but i dont think you need it_

Elena blinks at her phone, trying to work out an appropriate response to that. Finally, she settles on short and simple. _Nope._ She hits send and puts her phone back on the nightstand. Her boys are ridiculous sometimes.


	27. Elena and Sully, sick day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as a birthday gift for my friend, scribbly-kimbree. Elena's stuck at home sick. Sully stops by for a friendly visit.

Elena coughed and flipped to the next page of the report she was reading. Stupid cold. She’d been planning on joining Nate on his current adventure, checking out some ruins in the jungles of Brazil, but then she’d gotten sick. And despite all her arguing—which, she’d admit, had at times ventured into childish whining—Nate had convinced her it was better to stay home. He was right, and she knew it. Wandering around in a jungle when she was already sick was just asking for malaria or something.

Still. She’d been looking forward to the trip, and it was taking a lot of effort not to be envious of Charlie, who’d taken her place at the last minute.

She sighed and scribbled a note in the margin of the report. Getting research done for her next story was a good use of her time, sure, but it was much less fun than exploring some long-lost ruins. Elena sighed, which set off a brief coughing fit. She scowled and reached for her glass of water. A sudden knock at the door made her jump, and she just barely managed to keep from knocking the glass over. Elena frowned, blinking at the door. Who would be… it wasn’t Nate, he wasn’t due back for another two or three days. And even if he was home early, he’d have just climbed in a window if he’d forgotten his keys. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

Elena shook her head. Probably somebody trying to convert her to a new religion or something. She straightened out her sweatshirt as she stood up, then walked over to the door and peered out the side window. When she saw who was standing on the front porch, though, she let out a disbelieving laugh and opened the door. “Sully!” she said, grinning.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied with a smile. “I’d give you a hug, but I don’t want to get sick.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” she said. “What brings you over here?”

Sully shrugged. “Talked to Nate yesterday,” he said. “He mentioned you were sick and had to miss the trip, so I thought I’d stop by, see how you were doing.” He held up a large, grease-stained paper bag. “Brought lunch from that Cuban place you like.”

Elena beamed at him. “Thanks!” she said and stepped aside so he could come in. “That’s really sweet.”

He chuckled. “Eh, don’t go spreading it around,” he said as she shut the door. “It’ll ruin my reputation.”

Nate had an almost identical response whenever she called _him_ sweet. Like father, like son, apparently. Elena shook her head and waved him towards the kitchen. “Sorry about the mess,” she said. She didn’t like cleaning under normal circumstances, and when she wasn’t feeling well… she made a mental note to at least try to clear off the counters or empty the sink before Nate got back.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Sully said. He set the bag of food down on the table and grabbed plates while Elena refilled her water and grabbed a soda for him. Sully slid her a plate loaded with fries and a thick Cuban sandwich as soon as she sat down.

Elena took a bite of the delicious, delicious sandwich and sighed happily. “Oh, my god, thank you, Sully,” she said. “I’ve been living on leftover pizza and chicken noodle soup the past few days, this is great.”

“I figured you’d appreciate some real food,” Sully said, picking up a couple of French fries. He waved at the living room with them. “So what’re you working on out there? Research?”

Elena nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Been reading up on organized crime in Georgia—the country, not the state.”

“Georgia-the-state does seem a little tame for your tastes,” Sully said with a laugh.

“I’m following up on that human trafficking story I covered last year,” she continued.

“The one in Kiev?”

“That’s the one.” Elena swallowed another bite of sandwich before continuing. “The Ukrainian authorities weren’t able to catch some of the ringleaders, and it looks like they’ve set up shop again in Tbilisi.”

Sully frowned, his brow furrowing. “Is that safe?” he asked. “If you were gettin’ into their business before…”

Elena munched contemplatively on a fry, trying to figure out how to answer Sully’s question. “It’s not too dangerous,” she finally said. “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Nepal, I’d say it’s a three or a four.” She’d be careful, she’d be armed, and unlike Nepal, she’d have no hesitation about backing down if things started to go south. She didn’t need to go through that again. She didn’t need to risk her crew going through that at all.

“All right,” Sully said, nodding, apparently satisfied with her answer. “When’re you supposed to leave?”

“Not for another couple of weeks,” she said. “I probably don’t need to be doing that much research now, but… well, I was bored.” She shrugged and took another bite of her sandwich, trying to ignore the faint but undeniable ache of disappointment. She really had been looking forward to that trip.

“Well,” Sully said, “I don’t have anything else planned for the day, if you want some company for a few hours.”

That, Elena realized, had probably been his plan all along. She grinned across the table at him and nodded. “Sure,” she said. Then, after a moment’s thought, she brightened. “We could watch a couple movies or something.”

Sully laughed. “You’re just excited about being able to watch movies without Nate.”

“No, no, I can watch movies on my own without him,” Elena said. “It’s watching movies with someone else who _isn’t_ Nate, that’s the important thing.” She shook her head. “I love him, but he is awful to watch movies with.”

“The worst,” Sully agreed. “D’you have Ocean’s Eleven? I haven’t been able to enjoy that in years.”

Elena giggled. Heist movies were among the worst ones to watch with Nate—he felt it was a matter of professional pride to point out all the flaws in the films. “Yeah, but I only have the Clooney version.”

“That’s okay.” Sully made a show of glancing side to side before leaning in a bit. “Honestly, I like that one better,” he added in a conspiratorial near-whisper.

Elena put a hand to her chest in feigned shock. “I’ll be sure not to tell anyone else of your generation,” she said.

Sully narrowed his eyes at her, pretending to scowl. “Are you callin’ me old?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Elena replied with a grin. “That’d be disrespecting my elders.”

He heaved a sigh. “This is what I get,” he muttered. “I bring you lunch, I risk getting sick…”

“I’ll make you popcorn to go with the movie.”

“Okay. That’s fair.”


	28. Nate/Elena, long distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Drake's Fortune. It's some kind of long-distance relationship, even if they wouldn't really call it that.

Elena's in the middle of her normal dinner routine-- leftover Chinese food and reading articles about the topic of her next episode-- when her phone rings. It's loud in the near-silence of her apartment, and she startles for a second before picking it up. She grins when she sees the name on the caller ID and accepts the call. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Nate says. “Did I actually manage to catch you at home for once?”

She laughs. “I've been filming,” she says. “Thus the travel.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your 'regular job.'”

Elena rolls her eyes; hosting, filming, and editing an international history show is pretty far from normal. But Nate's job is farther from normal still, so it's all relative, really. “I am at home now, though,” she says. “Eating dinner.”

“This late?”

“It's only six thirty here, Nate,” she says.

“Oh. Right.”

“I'd think you'd be better at time zones, with all the traveling you do,” Elena teases.

He chuckles, and she can picture him grinning. “It's the opposite, actually,” he replies. “I travel so much that I can't ever remember what time it is anywhere. I've given up on keeping it straight.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Elena glances at her food and frowns. “Hang on a sec, I'm gonna put you on speaker so I can finish eating.”

“'kay.”

She clicks the phone to speaker and sets it on the table. “So, what've you been up to?” she asks. “Haven't heard from you in a few days.” She really hadn't expected this, the long phone calls almost every other day. The random visits seem more in line with Nate's mercurial character-- he comes to see her when it suits him, and in response, she doesn't bother to rearrange her schedule when he shows up. But this, talking almost every day, the random e-mails or texts, makes whatever this relationship of theirs is feel a little more... real.

“Yeah, I was in Valencia,” he says. “Turned out to be a bust, though.”

“Aw, what happened?” Elena asks and takes another bite.

Nate sighs. “Got a tip about a guy who was selling off some artifacts down there,” he says. “Including some maps and navigational charts that supposedly belonged to Simon Bolivar, stuff that had supposedly been lost for centuries.”

“Didn't have 'em?”

“Forgeries,” Nate says. “Really, really bad ones, too. Probably made in the last ten years or so.” He huffs out an annoyed breath. “The guy selling them didn't really appreciate it when I pointed that out. Loudly.”

Elena winces. “You get shot at again?” She knows he's fine now, and that he can take care of himself, but she doesn't like the idea of him getting hurt. Or worse. If something happens to him, she'll probably never know. He'll just stop calling one day. The thought leaves a knot in her stomach.

“Nah,” Nate says. “Just a minor brawl.” He chuckles. “I've got a hell of a black eye. Should've seen the look Sully gave me when he picked me up at the airport.”

“I can imagine.” Elena's more or less finished with her meal, and she clicks the phone off speaker before tucking it between her shoulder and ear. She picks up her dishes and sets them on the counter, telling herself she'll clean up later.

“But other than some bruises and being out the cost of a round-trip ticket, I'm fine,” Nate says. “And something else'll come along sooner or later.”

“Yeah.” Elena wanders into her bedroom and flops down on the bed. It's been about three weeks since his last visit, and she misses him. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend he's lying next to her, instead of sitting in his apartment on the other side of the country.

“What about you, what're you up to?” Nate asks.

“Between episodes right now,” Elena replies. “So, you know, editing the last one and researching the next.” She shrugs. “Not very exciting.”

“Eh, that's all right,” Nate says. “Oh, hey, how'd the thing in Egypt go?”

She grimaces. “Uh, it didn't, actually.”

“What?” Nate actually sounds kind of upset. “What happened?”

Elena sighs and opens her eyes to stare up at the ceiling. “My producers and the lead archeologist didn't see eye to eye on a few things,” she says. Like access to the site or interviews or showing much of anything, really, other than the dig from fifty meters away. “The whole thing fell through.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Nate says. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

He chuckles. “Guess this means I still owe you one, huh.”

For a second, she contemplates letting him off the hook, but then she decides that giving him grief about it will be way more fun. “Yep,” she says.

“Thought so.” Nate doesn't sound terribly upset about it. “So, where's the next episode?”

“Dominican Republican and the Caribbean,” she says. “We're doing an episode on pirates.”

Nate huffs out a breath. “You don't sound excited. Too many close encounters with real ones?”

Elena rolls her eyes. “No,” she says. “They're sort of making me go with the whole romanticized, Disney version of pirates. I have to sideline the pillaging and burning and murdering and all that.”

Nate's quiet for a few seconds. “But that's what pirates did,” he finally says.

“I know.”

“What _are_ you going to talk about?”

“Based on my research? Very little,” Elena replies. “Pirate ships, I guess. And treasure.”

“I like treasure.”

Elena gasps melodramatically. “No! Really? I'm shocked!”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Not like I had to watch you go running off every ten minutes because you thought you saw something shiny.”

“Hey!” Nate protests. “Sometimes they were actually valuable!”

“And sometimes it was light reflecting off of water.”

“Well, they can't all be winners.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “I guess not.”

“Okay, so, back to the pirates thing,” Nate says, “you can't convince them to talk about what you actually want to?”

Elena sighs. “Yeah, well, after the whole El Dorado fiasco, I'm not exactly in a great bargaining position,” she says. “Kinda have to toe the line for now.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's all right.” She almost says 'it was worth it' but stops herself at the last second. That's too... too much, for what they are. Too serious. At least for right now. “I'm not gonna be doing this forever, anyway.”

“And what do you want to do forever?” Nate asks. He doesn't sound condescending about it, though. Just curious.

Elena shrugs, even though he can't see her. “I'd like to get into more legit journalism, actually,” she says. “Most of these places I go for the show, they're a mess. The people there are just...” She trails off, shakes her head. “I don't know. I'd like to do some good, you know?”

“Yeah.” She can almost picture his face, that rare, somber expression when he's actually admitting to taking something seriously. “You'd be good at it. I'm sure you'll get there.” He pauses for a second. “I mean, if nothing else, you're too stubborn not to.”

She grins. “Thanks.”

There's a bit of an awkward silence, then, as they both try to figure out how to transition out of the unusually serious topic. “So,” Nate finally says, “if you come across any buried treasure while you're filming, you'll tell me, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Elena says. “Once I've hauled it up and claimed it for my own. You can watch the episode where I become fantastically wealthy and retire along with everyone else.”

Nate makes a sad noise, and she can tell he's pouting. “Can't believe you wouldn't share your treasure with me.”

She bites her tongue on a particularly bad innuendo, because that's, like, Sullivan-level right there. “Not my fault if I end up being better at your job than you are,” she teases.

“Oh, hey now, you haven't found anything yet,” Nate replies. “Save the bragging for once you've actually hauled up chests of gold.”

Elena giggles. “Okay, fair enough.” She glances at the empty side of the bed, sighs, and closes her eyes again. “So, mister-big-time-treasure-hunter, got anything else planned? Or was Valencia it?”

“Nah. Sully says he's got a line on something in Italy, actually...”


	29. Nate/Elena, unexpected visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Drake's Fortune. Usually Nate knows when he's going to randomly drop in on Elena. This is a bit of a surprise for both of them.

Elena leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes. Much as she wants to get this segment finished tonight, she's pretty sure she's gonna have to admit defeat. It's almost eleven-thirty, and her eyes are starting to cross from staring at her laptop for the last... um... however many hours. She shakes her head and sits up. Probably time to call it a night.

Her cell phone buzzes at her, and Elena sits up, frowning at it. Not many people who'd call her this late, unless it was-- no. She shakes her head, forcing the memory of that horrible phone call back down, then picks up the phone. _Nathan Drake_ , the caller ID says, which doesn't clear things up much at all. With a shrug, Elena accepts the call. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Nate replies, and she can tell something's wrong just off that. “Please tell me you're at home.” He's kind of slurring his words, and Elena does the math on the time in Florida. Did he drunk dial her?

“Yeah, I'm at home, why?”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank god,” he mutters. “Look, uh, I know this is really short notice, but can I crash at your place tonight? I'm flying back from Beijing and it's been a nightmare, delays and shit, and I completely missed my flight home, and I really don't want to sleep at the airport...”

Ah. So he's not drunk, he's exhausted. “Of course,” Elena says, cutting into his rambling. “Of course you can stay here.”

He sighs again. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Elena replies. As unexpected as this is, she's hardly upset. She's missed him-- he's stopped by to visit a few times since Panama, and they talk a lot, hour-long phone calls or e-mail threads with message counts in the hundreds. But that's not the same as having him around in person. “D'you want me to come pick you up, or—”

“No, no, you don't have to do that,” Nate says. “I'm heading out to get a cab now. Should be there in twenty, thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” Elena says. “See you soon.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

They hang up, and Elena looks back at her computer. All right. Another twenty minutes of work probably won't kill her.

By the time Nate knocks at her door, Elena's mostly finished up the segment, although her eyes hurt and there's a headache threatening at the base of her skull. She saves her work, then goes to let Nate in. She opens the door and can't help a sympathetic wince. He looks kind of awful, to be honest, shoulders slumped and dark circles under his eyes. “Hey,” she says.

“Hi.” Nate steps in and gives her a quick hug with his free arm. “Sorry about this--”

“Nate, it's fine,” she says, gently pushing him into the apartment so she can shut the door. “Really.” He sighs and digs the heel of his palm into his eye. Elena checks to make sure the door's locked, then takes Nate's arm and starts walking him back to her bedroom.

“Supposed to be a twelve-hour flight,” Nate mumbles. “I think I've been in airports or on planes for the past, like, day. Things kept getting canceled and delayed and rescheduled...”

Elena pats his arm. “D'you wanna shower first, or just pass out?”

He looks over at her bed with open longing. “Kinda just want to sleep,” he says. “If you don't mind me--”

“It's fine,” she says again. “Probably for the best, really. The way you sound, there's probably a risk that you'd fall asleep in the shower and break something.”

Nate chuckles and drops his bag on the floor, then turns to look at her. “Thanks,” he says and leans down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I-I mean it, thanks for this.”

Elena's not really sure what to say to that, so she just smiles at him and nods at her bed. “Go to sleep,” she says. “I'll be there in a minute.” He nods at her, and she slips into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. By the time she comes back, Nate's clothes are in a pile on top of his shoes, and he's facedown in the pillow on his side of the bed. Elena shuts off the light and slides in next to him, trying to keep from disturbing him too much.

Apparently, Nate's not quite asleep yet. He grunts and rolls over to face her, throws his arm around her waist and cuddles up against her side. Elena huffs out a quiet laugh and reaches up to stroke his hair, then settles in and closes her eyes. She's finding that she falls asleep faster when he's around.


	30. Nate, Sully, Elena - Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first year that Nate's really had reason to celebrate the holiday.

Nate is starting to realize that he is surrounded by sneaky, manipulative people. Sully, for instance, arranged things to get Nate his ring back and Elena to the airport before they left Yemen. And now Elena just so happened to reschedule their almost-weekly dinner with Sully to Sunday. Which is Father's Day, as the ads on the radio and TV have been announcing for the last few weeks.

It's not a holiday Nate's ever really given much thought to. Even as a kid, all he felt were flickers of resentment (or curiosity, quickly buried). By the time he met Sully, he barely noticed when the holiday came and went. But, well, this year... this year, things are different. It's a little harder to ignore the holiday when his best friend has basically told him 'I love you like a son.' Or when his wife has sneakily arranged things so that they're all spending the day together.

“You did this on purpose,” Nate accuses, leaning on the counter and narrowing his eyes at Elena.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” She's halfway in the fridge, digging out something or other for dinner, but Nate knows her too well to buy it.

He makes a face at her back. “You're a bad liar.”

Elena snorts and turns around. “I'm a great liar,” she says, setting the milk and cheese on the counter. “I'm just not _trying_ right now.” Nate sighs, but before he can respond to that, there's a knock at the door. Elena rolls her eyes. “How many times do we have to tell him he can just come in?”

“He's probably afraid he'll find us half-naked on the couch,” Nate replies. “Again.”

“That was one time!” Elena calls as he heads for the front door.

Nate detours around to the coffee table to grab the box sitting there, then takes a deep breath before opening the door. “Hey, kid!” Sully says with a grin.

“Hi.” Nate steps back to let Sully in, shuts the door, and then holds the box out, studiously avoiding eye contact the whole time.

Sully blinks at him, then takes the box. “What's this?” he asks even as he tugs the lid off. Inside is another, smaller box of illegally imported Cubans, along with a solid-looking chrome lighter.

“You'd been complaining about your old one,” Nate explains when Sully picks up the lighter.

That doesn't seem to make things any less confusing. “What's the occasion?” Sully asks. “It's not my birthday.”

Nate shrugs and fights back the urge to scuff his feet. “It's, uh, it's Father's Day,” he says. It's months later, yes, but at least he's finally figured out a way to respond to what Sully told him back in Yemen. Sully hadn't wanted a son, and Nate hadn't wanted a father. Until they had, as Sully put it, barreled into each other's lives.

“Oh.” Sully frowns at the box, still looking sort of bewildered. Nate shifts his weight and hopes he didn't just cross a line somehow.

“For god's sake, just hug already!” Elena calls from the doorway.

Nate chuckles awkwardly and glances over his shoulder at her, but she's already disappeared back into the kitchen. He turns back to Sully and shrugs, then does as he's told and gives him a hug.

Sully laughs, too, and pats his back. “Thanks, Nate.”

“Yeah.” Nate steps back and tilts his head at the kitchen. “C'mon, we can help Elena with dinner.”

“Doesn't that mean just standing out of the way and not setting things on fire?”

“That's helpful!”


	31. Nate/Elena, three fluffy scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes you just want sappy, sappy OTP fluff. All set post-Uncharted 3.

1.

She wakes up in the middle of the night to find Nate missing from their bed, and for a second, she panics. He's gone again, should've known better, should've known-- Elena squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. No. He wouldn't. Trust might still be a work in progress, but she's getting there, and Nate wouldn't leave again. Not for no reason.

Elena sighs and climbs out of bed, pulls on her shorts and one of Nate's t-shirts before she sets off to search the house for him. It doesn't take long to determine that he's not there. It's a small house, and Nate's not very good at hiding. She's standing in the kitchen, debating the merits of trying to call him or Sully, when she notices the back door standing open an inch. With a frown, she pushes it open and steps onto the deck. Also empty. Where could he...?

"Hey."

She jumps at the sound of Nate's voice, behind and... above her? Elena turns around to look up at the roof and yep, there he is. "What are you doing up there?" she asks.

Nate shrugs. "Couldn't sleep."

Elena just blinks at him. "So you climbed onto the roof?"

"Yeah."

His tone of voice says that this is perfectly normal behavior, and all she can do is laugh in response. "I married a crazy person," Elena says and starts looking for a way up.

"That really can't be a surprise to you," Nate replies with a grin. He moves to the edge of the roof and offers her a hand up, pulling her up beside him.

"Thanks." Elena glances over at him. He's barefoot and bare-chested, having only pulled on jeans before leaving the house, and he looks sort of distant as he leans back on his elbows. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

He shrugs. "Dunno," he says, and she can tell he's lying just off that one word. Nightmares, probably. They've been a lot worse in the months since Yemen. Elena carefully scoots closer to him and leans against his side. He tilts his head back to look up at the stars. "Kinda wonder how they made the constellations," he says absently. "It's easier to find them here, where you can only see the really bright ones. Out where there's no light..." Nate exhales slowly, and Elena can feel him shiver.

Yeah. Definitely nightmares. Elena turns her head to press a kiss to his shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?" she asks. She doesn't know if it's the right thing to say. Hopefully it's not too wrong.

"I-- no." Nate shakes his head.

Elena winces. Okay. Wrong thing. "Sorry--"

"No, no, it's not... It's okay," Nate says, turning to look at her. He gropes around on the roof for a second before finding her hand and lacing their fingers together. "I just... Honestly, I don't remember much." He falls silent for a moment, swallows hard, and when he speaks again it's much quieter. "And what I do remember, I don't... I'm not sure how much is real."

She just squeezes his hand, for lack of any better ideas. Intellectually, she knows what happened to him-- exhaustion, dehydration, malnourishment, complications from his other injuries-- but imagining him going through that, lost and alone and dying... It's terrifying, and she wasn't even there. "Does this help?" she asks, nodding at the night sky.

"Yeah. Familiar sky and all that." He looks at her again and smiles. "You help."

Elena smiles back and leans up to kiss him properly. "Wanna head inside?"

Nate glances skyward again, then nods. "Yeah."

 

2.  


Nate paused in his reading, frowning at the translation listed in the book. That didn't seem quite right, and when interpreting centuries-old cyphers, word choice was key. He marked the page and reached across the table for another book. If only he could find an original version somewhere, instead of all these translations...

He leaned forward to flip through the book, then ran his finger down the page, peering at the small print. At this rate, he was gonna go cross-eyed, and--

His train of thought cut off abruptly as a pair of arms snaked around his neck. “Hi,” Elena said, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Nate replied and glanced sideways to look at her. “Need something?”

She shrugged and leaned closer, her chest pressed to his back as she looked at his notes. “Made any progress?”

“Not really,” he said. “Trying to work out a translation here...” He looked back at the book and started reading again. After a second or two, he grabbed the first book and flipped it open, putting the translations side by side.

Elena hummed in response, and Nate expected her to wander off. Instead, she nuzzled at his neck and lightly brushed her fingers up and down his arms. “You should take a break,” she murmured.

Nate blinked at the books. It was starting to take more and more effort to actually read anything. Elena was really good at being a distraction when she put her mind to it. But he was close to working this out, he could tell, and if he stopped now... “Once I finish with this section,” he said. “Then I'll take a break.”

“Uh-huh,” Elena said skeptically. “And just how long is that gonna take?”

Nate glanced at the piles of notes, maps, and books covering the kitchen table. “Not sure.”

“Thought so.” Elena brushed a kiss to his ear, and Nate had to fight back a shiver. “This isn't going anywhere,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. “It'll all be right here when you come back.”

He sighed. “But if I leave it now, I won't be able to stop thinking about it.”

Elena chuckled, and this time, he did shiver. “That a challenge, Mr. Drake?” she all but purred. Dammit. This was quickly turning into a losing battle. 

Nate took a deep breath and twisted around so he could look at her. “Give me ten minutes to see if I can work this out?” he asked. “Then I'll take a break.”

Elena blinked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Thanks.” Nate turned back to his work and waited for Elena to move away. Instead, she nuzzled him again, then lightly nipped at his ear. He cleared his throat. “Um. Ten minutes without you hanging on me?”

“Mm, no, that's not what I agreed to,” Elena said. “You have been working on this for six hours straight. I've been _very_ patient for those six hours. I'm done being patient now.” She turned her head and pressed a line of kisses up the back of his neck. 

Nate glanced at his books, then gave in. “All right, you win,” he said, straightening up from the table.

“Didn't even make it thirty seconds,” Elena said merrily. She grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, leading him toward the bedroom.

“Yes, well, you're very difficult to resist,” Nate replied.

She grinned. “You do realize I'm going to take advantage of that all the time, right?”

He faked a pained sigh. “How terrible,” he deadpanned. Elena just laughed and pushed him towards the bed.

 

3.  


It’s a lazy, autumn Sunday afternoon that finds both Nate and Elena at home without much to do. That’s a rare enough occurrence in and of itself—even when they’re both home, at least one of them is buried in work or research, or there’s something to do around the house, or they have plans with friends. Today, though, there’s nothing. Which is why they stayed in bed until almost noon, and then Elena let herself get sweet-talked into making waffles for breakfast. Lunch. Whatever.

She’s curled up on one corner of the couch with her tablet, reading through her various news feeds—despite everything being online, papers like the Times and the Post still feel a need to do big Sunday editions, and Elena keeps finding herself getting sucked into one in-depth story after another. Print might not be her medium of choice, but that doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate well-done investigative writing. Nate’s cleaning up from breakfast in the kitchen, and Elena smiles to herself at how comfortable this all seems. They spend so much of their time traveling, running from one dangerous situation to another, that it’s nice to remember that they can work like this, too. That there’s more than just the adrenaline rushes holding them together.

She hears Nate leave the kitchen, the floorboards creaking as he walks down the hall, but her attention is mostly on the story about a libel lawsuit in South Africa. Elena doesn’t look up again until Nate flops down on the couch next to her. He’s got a thick paperback in hand, and he gives her his best puppy eyes as he reaches over to pat her knee. Elena chuckles, recognizing the silent request for what it is, and uncurls her legs. Nate smiles and sprawls out across the couch with his head in her lap and thumbs his book open. Elena switches her tablet to her right hand and idly runs her fingers through his hair. He makes a low, contented sound in response.

The room's quiet, save for the occasional sound of pages turning or cars driving past outside. Elena finishes with her article and takes her hand out of Nate's hair long enough to click over to the next article she wants to read. Before she can put her hand back, though, Nate reaches up and catches her wrist. Elena glances down at him as he presses a kiss to her palm, and she brushes her fingers against his cheek when he lets go. He gives her a quick, downright sweet smile, then picks up his book again.

Elena's smile lingers for a bit longer. This is why she can deal with the fact that sometimes he has trouble with saying the words 'I love you.' Because of moments like this, when how much he loves her is written all over his face. He might not always say it, but she still knows. “Love you, too,” Elena says quietly, and Nate smiles again.

 


	32. Chloe, Sully, and Nate, out of prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springing Nate from a Turkish prison was just the beginning. Set during Uncharted 2.

Nate seemed fine, right up until they stepped through the prison doors and into the bright sunlight. The first sign that Chloe had that anything was wrong was that he stopped walking. She half-turned to see him rock back on his heels, sucking in a breath like he’d just been punched in the stomach. “Nate?” she asked. “You okay?”

He blinked at her, then plastered on an obviously fake grin. “Never better,” he said, and Chloe couldn’t help but wince at the lie. “You guys get a hotel around here? I’d kill for a shower.”

Victor nodded and pointed at the car. “Yep. Not too far. Brought you some clean clothes, too.”

“Thanks.”

Nate slid into the backseat and seemed content to stare out the window in silence. Chloe assumed he'd have questions-- about what he'd missed, about what had happened with Harry, about Lazarevic-- but he kept quiet. Maybe he'd want to ask after he'd showered. Victor wasn't trying to start up a conversation with him, and Chloe decided to follow suit. She hadn't ever spent more than a night or two in prison. Three months wasn't as long as some people she knew, but it still wasn't pleasant. Especially not for someone like Nate. She wasn't sure if he'd ever spent three months straight in the same country, much less in the same building.

Chloe parked in the back of the hotel, figuring it would be best for everyone if they could avoid staring and questions. She followed the guys back to Victor's room; hers was just across the hall, but part of her didn't quite want to let Nate out of her sight yet.

Nate let out another deep breath once the door was shut behind them and raked a hand through his hair. “Clothes?” he asked with a plaintive glance at Victor. Victor just handed him a duffel bag. “Thanks,” he said and slouched off toward the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, Chloe sighed and sank down on the edge of a bed. “He looks like hell,” she said flatly.

Victor nodded. “He'll be all right,” he said, though his confident tone was undercut by a worried glance at the door. “Get him back home, then on the trail of this treasure of his.”

“The Cintamani Stone,” Chloe said. She'd never heard of such a thing, but then, historical research had always been Nate's area of expertise. It was why she'd nudged Harry to track him down in the first place. She'd have been perfectly content with thirteen ships' worth of long-lost treasure, but three months in Borneo had turned up just the wrecks and a handful of trinkets. No gold or jewels or artifacts, nothing worth the fortune she and Nate had been imagining. But this Stone of his seemed valuable enough as well. With any luck it'd be easier to smuggle out of the country.

“Whatever that is,” Victor said, echoing her thoughts. Chloe smirked and shook her head. 

A mildly awkward silence fell over the room. She didn’t know Victor that well, had only contacted him because she remembered Nate talking about ‘my best friend Sully’ so often. That, and the fact that Victor’s number was at the top of Nate’s most recent calls. They’d only met in person about a few days ago, when they’d both arrived in Turkey. 

Chloe pulled out her phone and started sorting through her text messages, for lack of anything better to do. If nothing else, she could make sure that Harry wasn’t trying to figure out where she’d gone. She’d escaped the camp in Borneo by claiming she had a contact to meet with, someone who might have information about more of Polo’s journals. She had a sneaking suspicion that Lazarevic knew she was lying. That he let her go anyway was deeply worrying.

“Any trouble?” Victor asked once she put her phone away.

Chloe smirked. “No more than we've already got.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “And here we are headin' out looking for more.”

“Well, it's a living.”

“And not a bad one at that.” Victor dropped into one of the chairs by the open window and pulled out a cigar. “How'd _you_ get into the business, anyway?”

They spent the next twenty minutes or so swapping stories about their early careers, first thefts and near-misses with the police. It was familiar ground, really; conversations among the criminal class tended to always be about work, in one way or another. Chloe was in the midst of a story about the time she'd escaped a double-crossing client in Monaco when the bathroom door swung open. Nate looked worlds better, having showered and shaved. She smirked. He probably smelled better, too.

“Feel better?” Victor asked.

Nate nodded and dropped the duffel bag back on the bed. “You have no idea,” he said. He glanced at Chloe, then back at Victor. “D'you have my wallet and stuff?” Chloe didn't miss the way Nate tapped his fingers against his chest in the spot where his ring usually fell. She wasn't quite sure what the story was behind it, hadn't ever asked, but clearly Nate was attached to it. 

“Yep,” Victor said, getting to his feet and rummaging around in his bag. He handed Nate a plastic bag; Nate immediately dumped it out on the bedspread. He ignored the wallet and phone and passport in favor of his ring. 

Once he'd picked it up, he let out a sigh of relief and slipped the leather cord around his neck. “Did you...?” he started, looking over at Chloe. She just nodded and smiled at him. Nate smiled back. “Thanks,” he said, sounding as sincere as she'd ever heard him.

“No problem.”

Nate nodded, then started returning the rest of his belongings to his pockets. “So,” he said, “what the hell happened? There was a plan, and then Flynn screwed me over,” his face darkened, and he threw himself into the chair by Victor before continuing, “and you apparently had nothing to do with it?”

“First I heard of Flynn's 'plan' was when he showed up at the rendezvous alone,” Chloe said. “He told Lazarevic that I'd been part of it from the beginning, though. It wasn't like I could just walk away. I doubt I'd have made it a week.” 

Nate's gaze had gone distant, and he nodded slowly. “Right,” he said. “You guys have a plan for getting to Borneo?”

Victor held up a hand. “Slow down a second, kid,” he said. “We'll get back to my place, do some research, make sure we're not goin' in blind--”

“Sully, they could find the Stone any day now,” Nate said. “After what Flynn did to me? There's no way in _hell_ I'm letting him get the damn treasure, too.”

“I wouldn't worry about it too much,” Chloe said. “Flynn and Lazarevic have been searching the wreckage for three months, and they haven't found a damn thing. When I left, Flynn was sending the mercenaries on their fourth pass over the wreckage. Wherever this treasure of yours is, it's not in any of the obvious places. I think we can take a day or two.”

Nate scowled but didn't argue. Victor shot Chloe a grateful look, and she gave him a quick nod. Nate needed a little time to get his feet back under him; she wasn't sure if a few days would be enough, but it certainly wouldn't hurt. “Fine,” Nate agreed. “How soon can we be on a plane for the U.S., then?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Sully said. “It ain't gonna be direct, but it'll get us there.”

“Good,” Nate said. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I, uh. Thanks,” he said abruptly, glancing from Victor to Chloe and back. “For coming to get me.”

“I always do,” Victor said with a fond grin. Nate grinned back, then looked away, seemingly embarrassed about something. History that Chloe wasn't privy to, obviously. 

She just shrugged. “Just remember this next time I ask you for a favor,” she said with a wink.

Nate laughed. “Yeah. Right.”


	33. Nate and Sully, doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sully says he's got Nate's back, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have doubts. Post-Chateau in Uncharted 3.

They find the car, eventually, after wandering through the woods and dodging more of Talbot’s men. Sully wants nothing more than to get back to the hotel, buy their tickets, and take a nap. Maybe a shower first, if he’s feeling up to it.

Nate, on the other hand, either can’t or won’t shut up. He’s practically manic, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, checking his phone every thirty seconds to see if he has a signal yet, and rambling at Sully about… every-goddamn-thing, it seems. “How the hell did they know to follow us,” he says, holding up his phone again to peer at the screen. “I mean, we were careful, right? It’s not like we drove past Marlowe’s creepy lair shouting ‘we’re going to France.’”

Sully just shakes his head. They hadn’t advertised their plans, no, but all of them had flown under their real names. Kate’s reach and power had been nothing to scoff at twenty years ago. He’s afraid to imagine what she might be capable of now. Tracking the four of them wouldn’t be especially difficult. “We ought to break out the fake IDs for this leg of the trip,” Sully suggests. “So Marlowe doesn’t figure out we’re still alive.”

“Yeah, yeah, good thinking,” Nate agrees distractedly. He swings the car around a tree and checks his phone again. “Damn. Do you think Talbot’s people are in Syria already? I mean, Marlowe can’t have that many goons. Maybe we can beat them there.”

“Maybe.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sully can see Nate grinning. “C’mon, Sully, cheer up!” he says, reaching over to give him a companionable pat on the shoulder. “We’re alive, we’ve got the upper hand again, and as soon as I get a damn signal, so will Cutter and Chloe. It’s gonna be fine.”

Sully coughs, then manages a smile in return despite the heavy knot of dread in his stomach. This is all wrong. Nate’s jumped ship on jobs after situations half as deadly as that damn fire. He should’ve… when they made it out, Sully was fully expecting Nate to go into his ‘well shit, this is too much, let’s call it off’ spiel. Not for him to double down on it all. Then again, given everything Nate’s sacrificed (thrown away, a part of him whispers, thinking of the wedding ring tucked into his wallet), maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise. He’s gone too far to quit now.

The thought’s a chilling one. “You sure about this, kid?” Sully asks, deliberately keeping his tone light, and turns to look at Nate.

Nate drops his phone into his lap and smiles, bright and brittle. “Of course I am,” he says. “Aren’t you?”

Sully nods and does his best to keep from sighing. “I got your back,” he replies.

Nate’s finally quiet for a few moments, his hands going still on the wheel. “Thanks,” he says. “For coming with me.”

Sully just nods again and looks out the window. It’s not like he can do much else. Marlowe’s not about to back down, and neither is Nate. All Sully can do is stick with him and do whatever he can to keep him alive until this thing’s ended.

Hopefully by then it won’t be too late.


	34. Nate and Charlie, first meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthday present for nafroti.

Nate knew a clandestine meeting in progress when he saw one. Generally speaking, he tried to stay away from secret conversations that he wasn't directly involved in, but he sorta overheard them talking on his way back from the washroom. And in a way, he was involved, because the guy in the suit had mentioned a collection of Incan idols that Nate had 'liberated' and smuggled back to Peru about two weeks prior.

So he grabbed another beer and found a table that was close enough to listen in, but not close enough to be suspicious. He hoped. He sipped his beer and checked his watch from time to time, trying to look like he was waiting for somebody (he was, but Sully wasn't due for another hour), all while keeping an ear on the conversation. From what he was able to pick up over the noise of the bar, the guy in the suit wanted the bald guy in the leather jacket to go and steal the same idols from their prior owner. Either he didn't know the relics had been lifted, or something else was going on.

The two men wrapped up their conversation without Nate being able to make out the details, and the guy in the suit strode out. Nate watched him go, frowning as he tried to piece together the mystery. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't know anyone was behind him until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Nate looked up to see the guy in the leather jacket smiling menacingly at him.

“Hello, mate.”

Nate blinked. “Uh, hi,” he said. Shit. So much for sneaky. “Somethin' I can help you with?”

He _almost_ wasn't surprised when the other guy hauled him out of his chair and threw him at the nearest support pillar. Almost. Nate's head cracked against the wood, and he groaned, stumbling to regain his balance. “You need to learn a lesson about eavesdropping.”

Nate desperately glanced around at the rest of the bar, but all the other patrons were either studiously ignoring them or moving out of the way. Oh. Great. So it was that kinda place. While he was busy looking for backup that wasn't coming, the guy stepped in and punched him in the jaw. Nate staggered to the side and caught himself on a nearby table. “Look, pal, this is just a misunder--”

He ducked to avoid getting punched in the face again. “Nah, I think I understand pretty clear,” the guy said, almost cheerfully. “You heard somethin' you shouldn't have. I'm helping you forget it.”

“You're not--” Nate dodged a blow to the ribs, only to catch a fist just below his ear. “Ow! Shit, man, what the hell?”

“Forget anything yet?” He drew back to throw another punch. Nate scowled, ducked to the left, and landed a sucker punch in the other man's stomach. He doubled over, but when Nate went to trip him, he grabbed Nate around the knee and yanked his leg out from under him.

Nate's head slammed against the floor, and he blinked at the ceiling, momentarily dazed. The other guy grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him upright, then punched him in the jaw again. Nate tasted blood, and before he could get punched again, he swung back and nailed the other man in the nose. That, at least, got him to let go of his shirt. “That guy's gonna screw you over,” Nate choked out.

That just seemed to piss him off. The other guy bull-rushed him and slammed him into the pillar again, pinning him in place with an arm across his throat. “How the hell would you know?”

Nate still had enough space to breathe, but not much. “'Cause I took the relics he was talkin' about two weeks ago,” he gasped out.

The other guy blinked at him. “What?”

Nate experimentally pushed at the arm across his throat, and the other man let up a little. Not enough that Nate could get free, but he could talk more normally. “Those idols he wants you to lift from DeLancey?” he said. “They're in Peru. Took 'em there myself.”

There was a long, long pause while the other guy stared at him, then he stepped back. Nate took a few deep breaths and coughed. “I think we need to talk more,” the other guy said.

“Probably,” Nate rasped.

The other guy held out his hand. “Charlie Cutter.”

Nate blinked at him, gaze going from his hand to his bloody face and back, then he shrugged. What the hell. He'd made allies in weirder circumstances. “Nathan Drake,” he said, shaking Charlie's hand. “Nate.”

Charlie nodded and pressed the back of his hand to his nose. “Right,” he said, voice a bit muffled. “If you pick up the table, I'll get the first round and some napkins.”

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds great.” Nate dragged his hand across his mouth and was hardly surprised when it came back streaked with blood. He shook his head and got the table and chairs back more or less in their original position, then fell into a chair. Charlie came back, holding the glasses and napkins well away from himself, and set everything on the table. “You better be paying for this,” Nate said as he reached out to grab a glass.

Charlie shrugged. “If you're being straight with me, yeah.” He grabbed a handful of napkins and pressed them to his nose. “So. About the idols.”


	35. Nate and Sully, the waters of Iram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sully's time in Iram wasn't much better than Nate's.

Nate wanders away from the fountain, his steps faltering a bit, and comes to a stop near the edge of the platform they're on. Sully follows after him. "Now what, kid?" he asks. Nate doesn't respond. Sully frowns. "Nate?"

Nate's swaying back and forth a little, his fingers twitching at his sides. "No…" he mutters under his breath. “No, please…”

"Nate." Sully steps up beside him and waves a hand in front of Nate's face. No reaction. Nate looks awful, stunned and heartbroken over something Sully can't see. What the hell's the matter with him? Sully looks past Nate at the fountain. He was fine until he drank the water, and now… oh, shit. "Nate, c'mon, we need to--" Sully reaches for him, intending to grab his arm, but Nate's face suddenly darkens and twists in rage. Before Sully can react, Nate takes a running leap off the platform, landing in a roll on the one across the way. He comes up with a gun in his hands, and as Sully watches, Marlowe's men emerge from cover and start shooting. 

"What the hell?" Sully mutters and draws his gun. He needs to get down there, and fast, but there's no way he can make that jump. He'll have to find another way around. In the meantime, Nate needs covering fire. Sully kneels down by one of the ancient, cracked planters and braces his arms, sighting down the revolver at the swarming mercenaries. He almost shoots a couple times, only to jerk his finger off the trigger when Nate darts into the line of fire. Twenty years with the kid at his side means he knows how Nate fights pretty damn well. And this is just _wrong._ Nate's acting completely erratic, lurching out of cover with no cause and retreating from enemies he'd normally pistol-whip with a witty one-liner.

Nate staggers out of sight behind a wall, and leaving Sully free to finally start shooting. He hits a couple of the mercenaries and manages to drop one of them. There aren't any more in his line of sight, though he can still hear gunfire and shouting. Dammit. Sully gets to his feet and circles back, looking for a way down.

It takes a little climbing and one heart-stopping jump, but he makes it to the platform. It's quiet by the time he gets there, littered with bodies--none of them Nate, thank God. Nate's nowhere to be seen, though. Sully holsters his gun and looks around. This is not good. Kid's lost his goddamn mind and vanished into a half-ruined city of legend with Marlowe's thugs swarming around. 

Sully swallows hard. He just got Nate back, after spending days thinking Marlowe had killed him. He's not losing him again.

There's a metallic, grinding noise behind him, and Sully whips around to see the intricately carved metal walls in the center of the platform slide away, revealing what seems to be an elevator of some kind. With no other options, Sully steps to the center of the elevator and draws his gun again as it descends.

When the walls slide away again, Sully knows he's going the right way. He can hear gunfire and shouting up ahead, and he breaks into a run down the empty street, only slowing down as he gets closer to the fighting. Sully puts his back to the doorway and peers around it. There's four mercs in cover, firing at Nate. And Christ, even Nate's shooting is wrong--whatever he's using, he's switched to full auto, and he's just spraying bullets across the square. He's usually more careful than that.

The mercs haven't noticed him yet, and with any luck, Nate's shooting will keep them distracted. Sully lines up a headshot and fires, dropping one of Marlowe's agents. The rest duck back into cover, reacting like Nate's the one who killed him. Good. Nate's in cover, safe enough for now (relatively speaking), and the longer they don't notice a second shooter the more Sully can help.

There's a break in the gunfire from Nate's side. Reloading, Sully guesses. He checks around the corner again-- element of surprise be damned, if he can get a good shot he'll take it--

"I'll kill you!" Jesus. It barely sounds like Nate, his voice twisted with grief and rage. "You-- you bastards, I'll kill you all..." His voice cracks at the end, and if Sully didn't know better, he'd say Nate sounded close to tears.

The shooting starts again, and Sully goes back to waiting for a clear shot and wondering what the hell is wrong with Nate. It's not the killing that's worrying. They've killed people before, but it's been in self-defense. Nate doesn't get like this in a firefight. He needs to catch up to the kid, and fast.

Surprisingly, Nate manages to take out the other three mercs. Sully hesitates, watching as Nate staggers to his feet. The way the kid's acting, there's a decent chance Nate might take a shot at him without realizing. He's gotta catch up to Nate without startling him. Sully snorts and shakes his head. Easier said than done.

As he watches, Nate stumbles drunkenly across the square, a rifle dangling from one hand, his other arm half-raised protectively in front of his face. Sully exhales sharply and heads after him. "Nate," he calls, but just like before, there's no response. "Dammit. Nate!" Nate stops in front of an archway, swaying in place, and bats at the air for a second before staggering through. Sully takes two steps to follow him, then curses and ducks when a bullet whizzes past him. Reinforcements. Great.

There's only a couple of them, but dealing with the thugs still eats up precious time. Every second that Nate's out of his sight makes him more and more nervous. More afraid. Nate's his-- his best friend, his partner in crime, his son, for God's sake, even if he's never put their relationship in those terms. He should've. Should've told Nate that he's family, that he's...

Sully shakes his head and reloads his gun. He will. Once this is all over. They'll get out of this, they both will, and he'll finally tell Nate all the things that need saying.

He comes to a large, silent plaza, the fountains still gushing water. This place had been beautiful, once. Now, though, it's just another ruin, a mess even before Marlowe's people showed up. Not that they helped matters much. Bullet holes mar the tiled walls, and there are charred streaks from grenade blasts on the floor. And again, bodies that Sully has to check. Make sure none of them are Nate.

He isn't among the dead, and Sully reloads his gun before continuing on. He hasn't heard any more shooting, but this place is massive. God only knows how far Nate could've gotten. 

Not far, as it turns out. The next room has what looks like an empty pool in the middle, and Nate's lying face-down in the center of it. “Nate!” Sully calls and runs towards him, holstering his gun as he goes. It's stupid, foolish, he's giving away their position and leaving himself unarmed, but dammit, he doesn't care because Nate's not moving.

Sully kneels down next to him and grabs his wrist, searching for a pulse. It only takes a second or two for him to find it, steady and strong under his fingers. There's no blood, and the only bruises Sully can see are the ones Nate had when they got separated. Sully sits back on his heels and scrubs a hand over his face. Okay. He'll just sit here with Nate until he wakes up, then figure out what to do next. Hopefully Nate'll be back in his right mind, or something close to it, when he wakes up again.

With a faint groan, Sully stands up, wincing as his knees pop and ache. Dammit. To invoke the cliché, he's getting too old for this shit, regardless of Nate's unwavering faith in his abilities. Kid's gonna have to start making do without him to watch his back. Sully frowns down at Nate's unmoving form. Hopefully by the end of this, he won't have pushed away everyone else who could. He's just been so goddamn--

“Keep searching!” The shout is distant but clear, and coming from somewhere beyond the archway on the far side of the room. Sully mutters a curse under his breath and hurries over, taking cover as best he can against the wall before cautiously peering out. There's a group of mercs making their way up the stairs towards Sully's position. Shit. Sully glances over his shoulder at Nate, who still hasn't moved, then draws his gun. It's clear behind them. So long as he can keep the mercs from getting past him, Nate'll be fine.

He takes out the first group of mercs, their bodies tumbling back down the stairs, then deals with the next group waiting for him at the bottom. Then he has to dodge snipers and some asshole with a rocket launcher, and somehow Sully finds himself on the opposite side of a bridge, his hands filthy and bloodied as he reloads his gun. Ran out of bullets at the last man, and the ensuing fist fight had been short. All it took was a decent grab and a shove to throw the merc off the ledge.

Sully turns to go back to Nate, make sure the kid's not dead, when he hears the grinding of gears behind him. Another elevator, and he'll be in plain view of whoever is on it if he goes for the bridge. With a muttered curse, Sully runs for a side tower, scooping up the fallen RPG as he goes. Only one rocket left, but hell, he might need it. 

About thirty seconds after he ducks into cover, Sully hears gunfire, though it’s not aimed at him. He squints through the latticework covering the walls. It’s hard to tell what’s going on out there, given the distance and the limited view, but he thinks he sees a familiar flash of off-white moving along the path. It has to be Nate. Who else would they be shooting at?

Sully shakes his head. With any luck, he’ll be able to catch Nate this time. He’s not gonna lose him again.


	36. Nate/Elena, blanket theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gift fic for beltsquid.

The bright red numbers on the clock flipped from 2:13 to 2:14 as Nate slowly came to terms with the fact that he was awake. Two in the morning was entirely too early to be conscious, and yet here he was, awake and cold and unable to move with his wife twined around him like a koala on a branch. She had one inexplicably freezing hand under his shirt, which was probably what had woken him up in the first place, and her legs tangled up with his. Any other time, it would have been adorable and sweet. But he was trying to _sleep_.

Nate craned his neck around as much as he could. Elena looked perfectly content, wrapped up in all the blankets and snuggled up against his back. He dropped his head back to the pillow with a sigh. He'd been sharing a bed with Elena for years, at this point, and he supposed he should have been used to this sort of thing. It was kind of impressive, in a way, that she could consistently manage to be so physically close to him while completely hogging the blankets.

He let out a sharp breath, then slowly tried to turn over to face her. Almost as soon as he started to move, Elena mumbled something incoherent and tightened her arm around him. Nate let out an irritated groan. He didn't really want to wake her up-- it wasn't her fault that she turned into some kind of arctic, thieving koala in her sleep-- but he also wanted to go back to sleep. He was pretty tired, though. Maybe he could get back to sleep without moving.

The clock read 2:18 when Nate gave up. “Sorry,” he muttered and flipped over. Elena whined in protest, her eyes still shut as she pawed at his shoulder. Nate tugged his shirt back into place, then grabbed the blankets and pulled them back over to his side of the bed. More whining and semi-coherent mumbling followed. “Shh,” Nate murmured, settling into a more comfortable position. “Go back to sleep, Elena, it's okay.”

She grumbled again, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing. Nate moved her hand from his shoulder to his waist, then raised his hand to run his fingers through her hair. That seemed to calm her, more or less, and before long her breathing evened out again. He let out a quiet sigh and dipped his head to press a kiss to her hair. Much better. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long for him to fall back asleep himself.

When he woke up again six hours later, Elena had not only stolen all the blankets, but also somehow managed to get his pillow, too. She blinked at him in abject confusion as he cracked up laughing, his head buried in his arms. “What's so funny?” she asked, poking him in the shoulder.

“You,” he said with a grin, “are the _worst_ person to share a bed with.” And there wasn't anyone in the world he'd rather share with, stolen sheets and all.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Sorry.”

“S'okay.” He leaned over to take his pillow back, brushing a kiss to her cheek in the process. “I'm goin' back to sleep.”

 


	37. Nate and Chloe, speedy getaway

Chloe taps her fingers against the steering wheel in time to the just-barely-audible music coming from the radio. She’s gotten used to this part of the job, sitting and waiting, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. It’s boring, but she can’t let herself get bored, because at any second things are gonna go from quiet to—

Something explodes in the building across the street, and Chloe looks over just in time to see a familiar figure silhouetted by the flames. She turns the ignition, kills the radio, and throws the car into drive, even as Nate hauls ass towards her.

"Go, go, gogogogogogo—" He’s shouting at her almost before he’s got the door open, and Chloe hits the gas as soon as he’s got both feet in the car. Nate flails around a bit as he tries to regain his balance, shut the car door, and check over his shoulder for pursuit all at once.

"I take it things didn’t go as planned?" Chloe asks, her gaze sliding smoothly between the windshield, the rearview mirrors, and the side mirrors.

Nate shrugs and brushes what looks like ash off his chest. “Not exactly, no,” he says. “I got the papers, at least.”

A pair of dark sedans screech out of an alley behind them, both coming up fast. Chloe smirks. “Better than walking away empty handed,” she says. “Buckle up.”

Nate knows better than to dawdle when she gives that particular order— he grabs the seat belt and straps in mere seconds before Chloe swings the car to the left and barrels down a narrow side-street. Both cars follow her, which is a good sign. If they were smart, they’d have split up, tried to cut her off. If they were smart, they wouldn’t have let her see them at all. “You still have your gun, darling?”

"Uh… no," Nate says sheepishly. Chloe makes an exasperated face, though she doesn’t dare take her eyes off the road. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Nate throw his hands in the air. "I ran out of bullets! This was a stealth job, I didn’t expect to be shooting quite so much."

"Right." His silenced sidearm probably wouldn’t have been much help, anyway, but she’d have liked to have the option. Ah, well. Guess they’ll be doing this the hard way. Her smirk turns into a self-satisfied grin. The waiting’s boring. This part is  _fun_.

It’s silent in the car for about thirty seconds as Chloe weaves up and down narrow, one-way streets, buying time while she maps out the route in her head. “Uh, Chloe,” Nate says. “They’re gaining on—”

"I will throw you from this car right now if you start backseat driving," Chloe says. Nate opens his mouth to speak, but waits until Chloe’s finished a hairpin turn, taking them onto one of the main drags. "And if you say that you’re in the passenger seat and not the back, I will throw you from this car," Chloe continues.

Nate shakes his head. “All right, all right,” he says. “Just tryin’ to help.”

Chloe blows through a red light and checks the rearview mirror. Still following, but they slow down a bit as they go through. So they’re stupid and cautious. That’s good to know. She can work with that. “No offense, but right now,” Chloe hauls the wheel to the left and cuts across several lanes of traffic— this late at night, there’s very few people on the road, but she still manages to make a couple other drivers swerve out of her way— and hits the gas again. “I don’t need your help.”

Nate twists around to look over his shoulder. “Clearly.”

There’s a distant-but-loud thud behind them, and Chloe checks the rearview mirror to see that one of her pursuers hit the concrete divider while trying to avoid a collision. “One down,” she mutters and guides the car onto the highway on-ramp.

The other car’s still hot in pursuit, though at this point, she’s not entirely sure what their goal is. The speedometer’s closing in on 200 km/h; at these speeds, a collision will kill all of them. They’re trying to keep up, Chloe can tell by the way the other car keeps lurching  forward as the driver hits the gas, but it just doesn’t have the ability to keep up. “Just give it up,” Chloe says, “just admit defeat and go home…”

There’s an exit coming up on the right, and at the last possible second, Chloe swings the car across the highway, going almost horizontal, and hits the brakes as the curve drains momentum from the car.

"Lost ‘em!" Nate reports gleefully. "Nice work."

"Thank you." Chloe lets the car slow back down to double-digits and finds a side street to disappear onto. She grins and lets out a satisfied breath, then glances sideways at Nate. "So, about those papers…"


	38. Nate and Chloe, the longest day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this art by atrafeathers](http://shadowblinder.tumblr.com/post/89955376163/chloe-and-nate-in-100-for-avali-i-feel-like-i).

“Anything?” Chloe asks quietly, turning to watch as Nate paces past her.

Nate shrugs, tense. “I don’t know,” he says. “Don’t speak the language, so I don’t know if… if she’s…” He’s got his back to her, so Chloe can’t see the look on his face as he rubs his hand over his eyes. She’s sort of glad she can’t see him, honestly. She’s barely managing her own grief and fear and exhaustion, she’s pretty sure she couldn’t take on his, too.

After a few moments, he drops his hand and turns back towards her. “It’s all too much, y’know?” he says, overly pale in the dim moonlight. “This whole damn day.”

A day. He’s right, as insane as it seems. It’s been a day. Less than twenty-four hours since Lazarevic ordered the attack on the village, since they reached the monastery, since they found Shambhala. Since Harry died and almost killed Elena and sent Nate running off on a near-suicide mission. It’s the same bloody day. At least it’s night, now. The day will be over soon.

“Yeah,” Chloe says faintly. She shakes her head and sinks down on the edge of the bench. Schaefer’s house is, ironically, one of the few untouched structures in the village. It’s not her fault, what happened here, but it’s eating at her regardless. She’s not sure if she could have done anything differently, or if Nate could have, but part of her feels guilty, anyway. She worked for the man who did this.

Nate sighs and slumps against the wall, his arms hanging loose at his sides. Chloe stares at the floor, and a few long minutes pass in silence. “I’m sorry,” Nate says after a while.

She glances up at him. She could ask what he’s apologizing for, but there’s so much, he probably wouldn’t know where to start. Neither does she, really, but even so: “I’m sorry, too.” He nods slightly. Chloe pushes herself to her feet, crosses the room to his side. “C’mon,” she says and lightly touches his arm. “We should get some sleep.”

Nate looks over at her, then shakes his head. “You go ahead,” he says. “Gonna wait until Tenzin comes back.”

Right. Chloe sighs and steps away. “Try to get some rest,” she says. Nate shrugs, and she’s too tired to argue with him further. At least if she sleeps, this damned day will be over faster.


	39. Nate, on his own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, the first time Nate was certain Sully was dead. Set during Drake's Fortune, in the time between Nate and Elena driving out of the jungle and flying off to the island.

Nate manages to not think about it, mostly, on the drive back from the jungle and into town. There’s the whole El Dorado thing to explain to Elena, and she has dozens of questions, all of which he’s happy to answer. For one, he likes to talk about this stuff, and it keeps him from facing what happened back at the ruins.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Nate asks as he parks Elena’s rented Jeep behind the town’s lone hotel.

Elena shoots him a sideways, mildly suspicious glance, and Nate belatedly realizes that question kind of sounded like a pick-up line. “Yeah,” she says. “I got a room here before I came after you.”

He nods. “Okay. That’s good.”

She’s still giving him an odd look as they climb out of the car and start towards the hotel. “We’ll head out in a day or two,” Nate says, talking to fill the silence more than anything. “I’ll need to look up some maps, figure out exactly where we’re going.”

“Find out where UK 2642 leads us?” Elena asks.

“Exactly.” Nate pushes open the door, holding it for Elena, then heads for the stairs.

Elena stops on the second-floor landing. “This is me,” she says, waving a hand at the hall. “I might go out and grab dinner in a bit. Do you want to…?”

For a second, he considers taking her up on the offer, but he’s honestly not sure how much longer he can keep avoiding thinking about it. “I think we’re—I’m, I’m just gonna go back to my—to the room.” Shit. Nate shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from balling them into fists.

Elena searches his face for a moment, then takes half a step closer to him—not inside his personal space, but close. “Are you okay?” she asks.

 _No_. “Yeah, I’m—I’ll be fine,” Nate says, forcing a brittle smile onto his face. “Just gonna get some sleep.”

She hesitates, and for a second it looks like she’s going to say something else, then she shakes her head and steps back into the hallway. “Okay,” she says and hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m in 213 if you need anything.”

“Okay.” Nate swallows hard. “I’ll, uh, I’ll come find you in the morning?”

“Yeah.” She gives him a quick smile. “G’night.”

“Night.”

She turns and walks away, and after a second, Nate makes himself continue up the stairs, another two flights and past a handful of doors to his room. Just his, now.

He unlocks the door, steps inside, and immediately spots Sully’s duffle bag sitting on the dresser. Nate lets the door fall shut and takes three stumbling steps across the room to his bed, then sits heavily on the edge of the mattress. He should be here. Sully should be coming in behind him, complaining about Elena’s sudden appearance, planning how to get to the island, talking about what the treasure will be worth. He should be here, and he’s not. For the first time since Nate was fourteen, he’s on his own. Sure, he and Sully have gone off on their own jobs since then, but that was different. Sully was always there, even if he wasn’t physically present. Nate could call him or go back home and he’d _be_ there.

Not anymore.

Nate leans forward and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. Sully was the one who brought Roman into it, but he still feels guilty. Sully got shot defending him. There was nothing he could have done, not without getting himself killed, too, but… dammit, he should have realized something was wrong, gone back to shore a different way, taken them by surprise. He should have done something.

He’ll see this through, make sure that Roman pays for what he’s done. But then… he’ll have to take Sully’s things home, after. Plan the funeral—god, and he won’t even have a body to bury, Roman’s men probably just threw him in the river—Nate clenches his jaw, the thought of Sully being washed away into the jungle making him feel sick. Plan the funeral, pack up his houses and apartments, sell the places… Live the rest of his life without Sully in it. He doesn’t know how to do any of it. He has to. He doesn’t have a choice.

Nate raises his head and glances over at the door. He could go back downstairs to Elena’s room, tell her that what he needs is to not be alone right now. It’s not even about sex, it’s just too empty and too quiet and too damn lonely by himself. But… he barely knows her, and he’s not even entirely sure that she likes him all that much. He’s a means to an end, a way for her to get her story, that’s all. She doesn’t want to listen to his problems and he doesn’t want to share them with a near-stranger.

So he’ll just sit up here in a room with one too many beds and a duffle bag whose owner isn’t coming back. Nate stares at the bag for several long seconds, then scrubs a hand over his face and lurches to his feet. He knows he saw a liquor store somewhere in town, and it’s not like he has to go anywhere tomorrow, they’re sure as hell not flying out to the island until---

God. He’s gonna have to fly Sully’s plane.

Nate checks for his wallet and yanks the door open. He’ll regret this in the morning, but dammit, his best friend is dead. There’s nobody to keep him from making really stupid decisions anymore.

 


	40. Nate/Elena, out of the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime between Drake's Deception and A Thief's End (!!!!!!!). Spoilers for the trailer and game description, if those even count as spoilers.

Elena stopped in the living room doorway and raised an eyebrow at the sight that greeted her. Nate was sprawled out on the couch, legs up on the coffee table, head resting on the back of the couch so he could more effectively stare at the ceiling. He was idly twirling a pencil in his fingers, and as she came closer, she could see his journal sitting open on his lap.

“Bored?” she asked, stepping over his legs so she could sit down next to him.

He shrugged and rolled his head to the side to look at her. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“No trips planned?” she asked. He and Sully had gone off to check out some Peruvian ruins a few months ago, but the trip had been a bust, financially speaking, and as far as she knew, Nate hadn’t been researching anything since then.

“Nah.” He shook his head and sat up. “I’m thinkin’ about getting out of the game entirely, to be honest.”

She blinked. “Really?” Nate had pulled back from treasure hunting since Yemen, but she’d assumed that he was just getting over that disaster. That he’d go back to it eventually. The idea that he’d give it up for good hadn’t really crossed her mind—and she wasn’t quite sure what to think now that it had.

“Yeah.” Nate glanced over at her and gave her a crooked smile. “I’ve got something better.” It wasn’t as reassuring as he’d intended, and some of her doubts must have shown on her face. Nate frowned and turned to face her properly. “What’s wrong?”

Elena took a deep breath. “I’m just worried about you giving it up because of me.”

His frown went from worried to confused. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because if you’re giving up something you love because of me, I’m afraid you’ll regret it and end up resenting this, or resenting me, and--” The words came out in a rush, and Elena only cut herself off when Nate shook his head.

“No, no, Elena, it’s not--” Nate let out a sharp breath, shook his head, and started again. “I still like traveling, sure, but I can do that tagging along with you on your assignments. But all the rest of it… I don’t miss it.” He reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t need it.”

Elena searched his face, but she knew he couldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t. She nodded slowly, a little surprised by how relieved she felt. “Okay,” she said, and smiled. “Good.”

He smiled back. “Except now I don’t know what to do with myself,” he said, a little sheepish. “It’s not like I’ve got a lot of work experience that could go on a job application.”

“You’ve got the looks to be a trophy husband,” she teased.

Nate laughed and shook his head. “I know I’m gonna get bored eventually,” he said. “And, I mean, we’re doing okay on your salary for now, but if we’re…” He hesitated for a moment, and it seemed a bit of a struggle for him to get the next words out. “If we’re having kids someday, y’know, a second income’s probably a good idea.”

Elena squeezed his hand. Talking about their future children still made him nervous, she knew that, so him bringing it up on his own was a definite sign of progress. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“But I still don’t know what to do.” Nate shrugged. “Don’t really want to end up working at Home Depot or something.”

“Nah, you’d look terrible in orange,” Elena said. “What about this?” She reached out and tapped his journal, which was currently open to a page full of sketches.

He glanced down and frowned. “What, drawing? You really think someone would pay me for that?”

“Sure,” she said. “You could do illustrations or custom pieces, stuff like that.”

“Hmm.” Nate shrugged, still looking skeptical.

Elena leaned over and bumped her shoulder against his. “You’ll figure something out,” she said. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

“Yeah.”

“In the meantime, if you’re bored,” Elena said, getting to her feet, “we need to purge our book collection.”

Nate made a face and flipped his journal closed. “We’re out of room again?”

“I almost tripped over a stack of books coming out of the study, so apparently yes.” Elena held out her hands; Nate took them and let her pull him to his feet.

“Maybe we could just buy more bookshelves, instead of getting rid of our books.”

“We don’t have room for more shelves.”

“Maybe we should buy a bigger house.”

Elena snorted and pushed the study door open. “You’re _definitely_ gonna have to find a job, if that’s the plan.”


	41. Nate/Elena, in sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after Drake's Deception.

Elena frowned at the clip her editor had sent over, as always feeling vaguely dissatisfied with the way she sounded on tape. She paused in the middle of an interview segment and jotted down some notes about reordering a few shots. She was about to hit play when the painful sound of deep, hacking coughs filtered down the hall, followed by a loud-but-raspy “Ow.”

Well, Nate was awake. Elena glanced at the screen again and decided that a quick break was in order. Time to check on her miserably sick husband. Nate had somehow contracted what the doctor had assessed, in alarmingly fascinated tones, as ‘worse than the flu, but not _quite_ pneumonia—it’s like a super-flu or something.' Just getting him to the doctor in the first place had been a trial; he’d insisted that he didn’t need to go, when he could talk around the horrible coughing, and then he’d sulked the entire time they were out of the house.

Elena was trying to be patient with him, given that a) he was really sick and b) she wasn’t much better when she was ill, but there was only so much whining she could tolerate. Nate didn’t seem to be feeling physically better today, but he’d spent all morning sleeping, so she’d been able to enjoy some relative peace and quiet.

She poked her head into the bedroom. “You awake?” she asked. The lump of blankets on the bed made an indeterminate sound in response, and she shook her head as she walked over. Nate started coughing again as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Elena winced. “You sound awful,” she said.

Nate blinked up at her, eyes over-bright, and cleared his throat. “Feel worse,” he mumbled.

Elena made a sympathetic sound and put the back of her hand against Nate’s forehead. Still burning up. Nate groaned and closed his eyes, then pressed his head against her hand. “Want me to get you something to drink?” she asked.

He nodded. “Tea?”

“Sure,” she said. “Be right back.”

“Okay.” Nate cleared his throat and pulled the blankets over his head as Elena got to her feet. She patted what she assumed was his shoulder, then headed for the kitchen. Now that she was actually paying attention to something besides her computer screen, she could see it was a beautiful day outside. Maybe once Nate was napping again she’d go out, walk around the neighborhood, get some air that wasn’t contaminated with super-flu germs. The doctor had assured Elena that Nate wasn’t contagious at this point, but she was still being careful. She washed her hands before pulling out a pair of mugs and putting the kettle on. Tea leaves, honey, lemon, ginger… everything she needed for her mom’s anti-flu tea.

Elena sighed and left the kettle to boil, then headed back into the master bathroom. She grabbed another dose of Nate’s prescribed medication and filled a glass with water, then went back to the bed. “That was quick,” Nate rasped when she tugged at the blankets.

“Not really,” she said. “Still working on the tea, but you should take these.”

Nate made a face, but sat up and accepted the medication from her anyway. He downed the pills and drained the glass, then set it on the nightstand. “What time is it?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

Nate made a face. “This sucks.”

“Yep.” Elena reached out to rub the back of his neck; he let his head fall forward and sighed. “You hungry?” He grunted and shrugged, which Elena interpreted as a no. “I might run out and get myself something for lunch in a bit,” she said.

“’kay.”

She couldn’t blame him for not being terribly talkative. In the kitchen, the kettle started whistling, and Elena got to her feet. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

She made Nate’s tea (extra honey, because he liked his hot beverages to be nauseatingly sweet), then made a cup for herself without all the extra cold-remedy additions. She could hear Nate coughing again as she collected the mugs and headed for the bedroom. He was halfway buried in his blankets again, but he perked up when he saw her. “Thanks,” he rasped.

“No problem,” Elena said. He sat up properly and took the offered mug, then hummed in contentment when he took a sip. “Good?”

“Mm-hm.” Nate glanced up at her. “Will you stay?”

Elena smiled. “Sure.” She handed him her mug, then climbed over him to sit on her side of the bed. Her pillow was still out on the couch, which meant that she couldn’t really comfortably lean against the headboard. She settled on sitting cross-legged and took her mug back.

Nate scooted closer to her, then frowned, clearly trying to work out the logistics of cuddling in their respective positions. He settled for just leaning against her side; Elena smiled and shook her head. “Are you still gonna sleep on the couch tonight?” he asked.

“Depends on whether or not your cough clears up,” she replied.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I want to sleep in here, I just… can’t.” His near-constant coughing kept waking her up, and she’d eventually gotten frustrated enough to sleep on the couch.

Nate heaved a sigh, then started coughing again. Elena winced in sympathy. “Dammit,” he muttered and took another drink of tea. “I hate being sick.”

“I know.” Elena shifted her tea to her other hand, then reached out to rub the back of his neck again. They sat in comfortable silence, save for Nate’s coughing and subsequent labored breathing, until they’d both finished their tea. “Here, I’ll take them back to the kitchen,” she said.

Nate nodded. “Might try taking a shower,” he said.

“That’d probably help you feel better.”

“Smell better, anyway,” he muttered with a wry grin.

Elena chuckled. “I wasn’t gonna say it…”

He made a face at her and started disentangling himself from the blankets and sheets. “I’ll be in the study,” Elena said, moving towards the door. “Holler if you need me.”

“’lena?”

She stopped and looked back at him as he made his (slightly unsteady) way over. “Thanks for putting up with me,” he said.

Elena transferred the mugs to one hand and lightly poked him in the nose. “Not putting up with you,” she said. “We take care of each other. That’s what the whole ‘in sickness and in health’ part meant.”

“Right.”

She patted his shoulder, then turned him towards the bathroom door. “Go shower. You’ll feel better.”

“Okay.”

 


	42. Chloe, bad news and apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe had to find out that Nate left Elena somehow.

She'd barely been off the phone for two minutes when it rang again. Chloe scoffed and picked it up, shaking her head. “What'd you forget?”

“It's, uh, it's not Nate,” Sully said. Chloe frowned. He sounded unhappy. “He said he'd called you about meeting up tonight?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

He sighed heavily. “I need to tell you something,” he said. “It's about him and Elena.”

Chloe froze, her stomach sinking. “Sully...”

“He left her.”

She stared blankly at the wall, jaw clenched to keep from screaming. She'd pushed Nate towards her because she'd seen how much he loved her, and he'd been so goddamn _happy_ when he'd told her they were getting married, and how _could_ he? “How long ago?” she ground out.

“Six weeks.”

“And you _let_ him!?”

“What the hell do you expect me to do?” Sully retorted, anger bleeding into his voice. “He won't talk about her. I suggested that maybe he should call her a few weeks ago, and he just walked out of the room.” He let out a sharp breath. “He's an adult, Chloe, I can't _make_ him do anything.”

That was bullshit, and they both knew it. If there was anyone who could make Nate do something... “Can't believe Elena hasn't shown up there to kick both your asses,” Chloe muttered. “Have you talked to her?”

Another heavy sigh. “No, I-- not really, no,” Sully said. “I sent her a text when he got here, let her know where he was, but... she never replied. Never called.”

That wasn't a good sign at all. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah.” Sully went quiet for a moment. “I knew they were having some trouble, but I didn't think... I had no idea it was this bad,” he said.

Chloe shook her head. “Dammit.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just wanted you to know before you showed up and asked how she was doing.”

“You really expect me not to say anything to him?”

“Say whatever you want,” Sully said, sounding weary. “I thought you should know going in.”

It was better to know in advance. That way she could skip right over the awkward parts and go straight to demanding to know what the hell was wrong with him. “Thanks for the warning,” Chloe said. “I'll see you tonight.”

“Yeah. I'll see you.”

Chloe hung up the phone and threw it at the table a little harder than was wise; it bounced off the wood and hit the floor. “Better not be broken,” she muttered and stomped off to the bedroom.

*

Chloe surveyed the extensive variety of beer in Charlie's fridge for a few moments before settling on one and stepping back from the fridge, almost colliding with Nate in the process. “Ah, sorry,” she said. “Didn't hear you.”

Nate gave her a lopsided smile. “They are kinda loud,” he said, waving a hand at the other side of the room, where Sully was telling Charlie and Elena some story. Arguments about whether or not Sully was being truthful kept breaking out every few moments.

“Did you want another beer?” Chloe asked, holding the fridge open.

“No, no, I'm good,” Nate replied. He kept fidgeting in place, his gaze dancing around so he could look anywhere but at her. Before she could ask what was wrong with him, he took a deep breath and seemed to force himself to hold still. “I-- I owe you an apology,” he said, meeting her eyes, and Chloe was too startled to look away. “For dragging you into this, for putting you in danger. For not listening to you.”

She just stared at him. They didn't do this, the two of them, it wasn't how their relationship worked. They screwed up and hurt each other, and then they both sort of silently agreed to let it go and not talk about it. Granted, she'd been having some trouble with the letting-it-go part this time around, but for Nate to actually address it head-on... “I should've listened to you,” Nate continued after a moment. He let out a sharp breath and shook his head. “Should've listened to anybody.”

“Except Charlie,” Chloe said dryly. He _had_ listened to Charlie, and look where that'd gotten them.

“Heh, yeah.” Nate sighed and met her eyes again. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't know what else to say, but... I'm sorry.”

It was more than she'd expected from him. “Well, thanks,” she said. She was still pissed at him, would be for a while, but... it was something. Nate nodded, scuffing one foot against the floor. Chloe sighed and turned away to grab the bottle opener. “C'mon,” she said, opening her beer. “Let's see what lies Victor is telling now.”

Nate grinned, relieved, and nodded. “I think he's going back to his Navy days,” he said. “That way none of us can contradict him.”

Chloe chuckled and led the way back across the flat, taking up her normal perch in the window. Nate went back to his seat beside Elena, who scooted her chair a few inches closer to him so he could put his arm around her shoulders. Chloe took a sip of her beer and sighed. Things weren't all right, not by a long shot, but they were better. It was a start.


	43. Elena and Nate, UST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Drake's Fortune.

Elena barely managed to keep from scowling as she followed Nate up the stairs and out of the small library. She wasn’t sure how much more obviously she could flirt with him, short of grabbing him by the collar and telling him she wanted to bang him like a screen door in a hurricane. Which somewhat passed the line out of flirting. But Nate had either not picked up on it or wasn’t interested.

If it was the former, she could work with that. The latter… well, she’d be disappointed, but she’d deal. Probably through the application of cold showers and one-night-stands, but she’d deal. She just needed to know which one it was, first.

Nate slowed down slightly about halfway up the stairs and drew his pistol. Elena shoved all thoughts her infatuation aside and followed suit, trying to peer into the room ahead of them. Nate suddenly took a sharp breath and lunged for the pillar on one side of the door. Elena flung herself at the other side and shot Nate a wide-eyed look. He held up a hand and glanced back at the room, clearly waiting for something. A few seconds later, Elena heard footsteps approaching, and she shrank back into the corner, gun raised.

A man with a shotgun stepped through the archway. Before he could speak or raise the gun, Nate kicked out his legs and slammed his pistol against the back of the man’s head. He went tumbling down the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom. Alarmed shouting echoed from within the ruins, and Elena took a deep breath as she followed Nate forward.

There were only a couple more of Roman’s mercenaries in the next room, though one of them was packing a grenade launcher. It took a few minutes before Elena’s ears stopped ringing, and she passed the time until she could hear again by sitting on the steps and carefully reloading her gun while Nate searched the room top to bottom.

“You okay?” Nate asked, coming to a stop on the landing below her.

Elena looked up from her handgun and frowned. “Yeah, why?”

He glanced sideways at the pair of bodies lying on the floor. “This probably isn’t the kind of thing you had to deal with on your other stories,” he said.

She shook her head. “You’d be surprised,” she said and tucked the pistol back into her belt. “Not the first time I’ve been shot at.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Not the first time I’ve had to shoot back.”

Nate nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer, and climbed up to just a couple steps below her. He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. The movement put them at almost the same height, with mere inches between their faces. Nate blinked, and Elena didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked down to her lips for a moment. It’d be so easy to just—

Nate turned away and bounded back down the steps, to the heavy-looking crank in the middle of the landing. “This should open that grate up there,” he said.

Elena sighed. She would kiss that man eventually, come hell or high water. “Okay.”


	44. Nate and Chloe, selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Among Thieves. Inspired 100% by my own wonderings of what Nate was going to say to Chloe when Flynn shot him.

Nate lets out a relieved laugh at the sight of Chloe, standing at the far end of the car. “Saved my ass again,” he says, moving towards her. “You all right?”

She trains the gun squarely on him. He stops. What the hell--

“Get off the train, Nate.”

He stares at her. “What're you talking about?” he asks, even as the meaning sinks in. She doesn't want to come with him. After all that, and she's-- “Do you have any idea what I've been through?” he demands, pointing back at the incredibly, unreasonably long train behind him.

Chloe just shakes her head. “I never asked for any of your bloody heroics.”

She turns around and starts walking away, as if she's just going to leave him there. As if he's going to let her. “Chloe, come on, we don't have time for this--”

“You're right!” She whirls on him, furious, though at least she's not aiming the gun at him anymore. “So get off the train while you still can.”

“And leave you with them.” He was trying to save her from them, from Lazarevic, from near-certain death, can't she see that?

She shakes her head again. “You made your choice,” she says with a sneer.

Elena and Jeff. That's what this is about, she's pissed that he wouldn't abandon the woman he-- someone he cares about and a man who'd been shot because of him. Jeff would have been fine if Nate hadn't dragged him and Elena to the temple, if he hadn't left them behind, and he couldn't just leave them to Lazarevic's men. Hell, he couldn't have left them anyway, even if it wasn't his fault that they were there, he couldn't. Chloe had to know that. “What did you expect me to do?” he asks, wounded and almost pleading. _C'mon, Chloe, you know me..._

“I expected you to have my back!”

“I had your back!”

“How could you possibly with the other two on yours!?”

That's it, then. She did expect him to choose her over them, to leave them both to die. How could she be so damn selfish? How could he be so stupid as to not see it? He cared about her (still did, a voice whispers in the back of his mind, still cares), and she's turned on him. Should've expected it, really.

He falls back a step. She wants to stay? Fine. “Good luck with Flynn,” he snaps and turns to walk away. Where he's going to walk away to, he hasn't figured out yet, but just-- away. “You deserve each other.” Dammit, he trusted her, he fought all this way for _her_ , and she's throwing it all away out of spite. Anger's still bubbling in his chest, tying in stomach in knots, and that's why he can't just walk out on those words. Has to keep talking, has to make her see what she's done. Hurt her like she's hurt him. “Y'know, I can't believe that you--”

 _\--would be so selfish_ , he doesn't get to say. He barely has time to register the figure behind Chloe, the gun in his hand, before the shot cracks and a bullet tears through his left side.

Nate's been shot before. Plenty of grazes, some of them pretty deep. Once one went clean through his right calf, and it took half a year before he could climb properly again. But this is... He puts a hand to his side, draws it back, blinks at the blood covering his palm, even as he feels more blood pouring out, soaking into his shirt. There's a split-second before the pain hits, before his body realizes what's happened; that split-second ends, and he staggers, almost going to his knees.

“You just don't know when to quit, do you,” Flynn says, eerily calm. Chloe's standing beside him, her face frozen in a horrified mask. Nate just presses both hands to his stomach and tries to back away as Flynn advances on him. Some part of his brain that isn't drowned out in pain and fear informs him that there's no exit wound, the bullet's still in him, tearing up his insides even more every time he moves-- “What? No witty remark?” Flynn's calm fades, replaced by sneering anger. “Nothing clever to say?” He raises the gun again, and Nate frantically glances for cover, for an escape, for some way out of this.

“Don't--” He barely hears Chloe, but he sees her, a blur of red hurtling at Flynn. “No!” She hits his arm just as he pulls the trigger, and his shot goes wild.

Nate knows an opportunity with he sees it. He turns around, one hand still pressed to his stomach, and runs like hell.

There’s shouting behind him, another gunshot, and he dodges on instinct, throws his free arm up to try to cover his head. Hopefully Chloe’s okay. He’s pretty sure Flynn wouldn’t shoot her, but then again, about four months ago he’d been pretty sure Flynn wouldn’t shoot _him_.

He makes it through one train car, into the next, and risks a glance over his shoulder to see more of Lazarevic’s hired soldiers pounding after him. He stumbles and catches himself on one of the seats, but he knows he can’t keep running. He’s lost too much blood. Nate manages to crawl behind a seat, giving himself some kind of cover. There’s blood everywhere, covering his hands and forearms, soaking into his jeans and shirt, far more of it than he can really afford to lose.

He draws his pistol and half-raises it, readying himself for the inevitable shootout, then stops. This is hopeless. He’s outnumbered, outgunned, and bleeding out. There’s no way out of this. The soldiers will reach him and one of them will put a bullet in his head and that’ll be it. Sully’ll never know what happened to him. Chloe’ll be left with Flynn and Lazarevic. Elena’ll never know that he…

Something catches his eye, red and white, and he raises his head enough to look. A pile of gas canisters, stacked haphazardly by the door to the train car. He can see the soldiers running down the car towards him. Choice between certain death and near-certain death. Nate swallows hard and raises his gun, bracing it with both hands to keep his aim steady. “Here goes nothin’…”

The pair of soldiers in front jump to his car, and Nate pulls the trigger as they land. The canisters explode, and the car jumps the track just as a wave of heat washes over him. There’s no moment of teetering suspension; the car goes straight off the rails and starts sliding down the hillside. Nate grabs at the seat behind him, trying desperately to brace himself on something, and oh shit, this was a really really bad idea—

There’s a horrible jolt as the car hits something and starts to roll. Nate manages to keep his hold on the armrest and gets slammed into the back of the seat; his vision goes white with sheer, overwhelming pain, then finally, everything goes black.


	45. Sully and Nate, some things can't be fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Uncharted 3. Sully gets an e-mail. Nate refuses to change.

Sully stared at the e-mail on his screen for several long moments. It hadn't been directed specifically to him-- part of a big blast to a ton of contacts. But he'd been included, which... well. He wasn't sure what it meant.

_Big news, everyone! I've accepted a foreign correspondent position in Aden, Yemen. This is a great opportunity for me, and I'm very excited about spending the next year covering the stories of the Middle East. I'll be making the move in a couple weeks, so if you're in town, this is your last chance to see me before I leave! Give me a call if you want to get drinks._

_Elena_

He sighed, then clicked on the To: field of the e-mail. Nate's address wasn't among the lengthy list of recipients. It had been two months since Nate left her, and as far as Sully knew, the two of them hadn't spoken since he walked out. He hadn't spoken to her, either, save for the text he'd sent to tell her that Nate had shown up.

Maybe he should have called. Maybe he should have kicked Nate to the curb, told him to get his head out of his ass and go back to his wife.

Wasn't too late to at least _tell_ Nate that last part. It probably wouldn't go anywhere, but he could try.

With a sigh, Sully stood up and headed for Nate's room. The door was half-open, which mean Sully could come in at will. They'd fallen back into old habits so easily. Even so, Sully rapped on the door as he pushed it open. Nate was at his desk, papers and books spread around him, and he didn't look up from his scribbling at Sully's knock.

Sully frowned, then knocked again, harder. “Hey, kid.”

“Yeah?” Nate asked, his attention still on his papers.

Sully pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. “Can I talk to you for two minutes?”

Nate didn't reply right away, just kept writing, but then he put down his pencil and looked up. Sully winced at how bloodshot his eyes were and tried to remember the last time he'd seen Nate out of his room. Had he even left today? How long had he been working? “Yeah, what's up?”

Sully took a deep breath, let it out. “It's about Elena.”

For a couple seconds, Nate's face became a frozen mask of pure fear. Then he blinked, the fear retreating to his wide eyes and his fingers pressed hard against his knees. “What about her?”

“Just got an e-mail from her-- she's moving out to Yemen,” Sully said. “Took a foreign correspondent position out there.”

Nate blinked again, something cold and hollow replacing his earlier terror. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

He started to turn back to his desk. Sully huffed out a sharp, angry breath. “That's it?” he asked. “Okay? She's your _wife_ , Nate, and she's moving halfway around the world without you, and all you have to say--”

“I don't need this from you, Sullivan,” Nate snapped. He only used Sully's full name when he was worried or angry, and this was definitely the latter.

“Nate--”

“You're really the last damn person in the world who should be giving out relationship advice.” Nate turned back to his desk, shoulders tense. “Thanks for telling me. I'm sure _she_ wouldn't have bothered.”

Sully stared at him for a few, long seconds, trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the one he'd seen standing in a courthouse less than a year ago. The man who'd been holding his bride's hand and smiling so wide Sully was sure his head was gonna split in two. How did this happen?

Nate wasn't offering any answers, and eventually, Sully turned away and left, shutting the door behind him. Now he had to decide if he was going to reply to Elena's e-mail. He wanted to. He missed her. But what was there to say?


	46. Nate/Elena, comforting cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Drake's Fortune. Nate might not know what to do with this relationship thing, but he knows for sure it's something different.

 

Nate shifted the duffle bag up on his arm so he could knock on Elena’s door. Part of him was starting to think that coming here was a mistake; if he’d just gone home, he could’ve wallowed in misery to his heart’s content. But he was pretty sure that going back to his empty apartment wouldn’t exactly help things. Besides, he’d told her he’d stop by for a few days after this job, and she’d seemed so happy…

The door swung open. “I was wondering when you’d—oh my god, Nate, what happened?” Elena’s smile vanished as she took in the bruises on his face and the brace on his left arm.

“Work,” he replied dryly.

She frowned and reached out to take his bag. “C’mon,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside. Nate sank down on the couch while Elena took his bag back to her bedroom. “You want anything to eat, or drink?”

He wanted a beer, but he’d actually broken down and taken some painkillers before getting on the plane. And he was giving Elena enough to deal with even without risking the fun and exciting side effects of combining prescription-strength painkillers and alcohol. “Just water’s fine,” he said.

Elena nodded and ducked into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a large glass of ice water. “So what happened?” she asked, handing him the glass and sitting down beside him.

Nate took a drink to avoid answering right away. “The guy I was working for turned out to be a lot less trustworthy than I thought,” he finally said and set the glass down on the coffee table. “I mean, I knew he was a greedy bastard, but I didn’t think…” _I didn’t think he’d leave me for dead and run off with the treasure._

“You didn’t think he’d do this?” Elena finished, gesturing at his injuries.

He sighed. “Yeah.” Nate shook his head and scrubbed his good hand over his face. “Barely gonna break even on this job,” he muttered. He’d found enough random relics and little trinkets to cover expenses, but that didn’t really help him pay the rent in two weeks. It wasn’t really about the money, though, it never was—it was about someone he’d at least trusted to have his back turning on him. Again. He should’ve been used to it by now, and yet…

Elena winced. “I’m sorry,” she said. She glanced at him, then nodded to herself. “Scoot over for a second,” she said, moving over and swinging her legs up onto the couch. Nate frowned in confusion until she held her arms out to him. He managed a faint smile and followed after her, wedging himself along the back of the couch. She wrapped her arms around him, settling his head on her shoulder, and slowly ran her fingers through his hair.

Nate swallowed hard, then squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against the side of her neck. He’d always been a very tactile person, and that need for physical contact spilled into his relationships, too. But most of the time, when he tried initiating that kind of thing, he got pushed away. Called clingy or smothering or needy—usually in joking tones, but he knew they meant it. He wasn’t necessarily looking for undivided attention, he just… wanted to know the other person was there.

Elena didn’t push him away, though. Well, sometimes she did, but there was always a reason—it was too hot for cuddling or she had work to do, things like that. But most of the time she was perfectly fine with letting him curl up next to her with a book or his laptop or whatever. And sometimes, like this, she’d make the offer first. Hold out her arms and let him stay for as long as he wanted.

It was different. She was different. There’d always been something different about her, something… more. He didn’t know how else to explain it, not even to himself.

“You wanna order takeout for dinner?” Elena asked eventually. After a moment, she added, “If you’re awake.”

“I’m awake.” He sighed and shrugged, turning his head so he wasn’t talking directly into her skin. “Takeout sounds good. Pizza?”

“Mm, I just had pizza yesterday. There’s that taco place down the street…”

“Do they deliver?”

He felt her shrug underneath him. “Not sure. Even if they don’t, I can call in the order and run down to pick it up, it’s a five-minute walk.”

“Mm. Okay.” He raised his head enough to see her face. “Are you hungry now?”

She shook her head. “Nah, not really.”

“Okay.” Nate settled back down and let out a quiet sigh when Elena’s fingers returned to his hair. “Tell me when you need me to move.”

“Okay.”


	47. Nate/Elena, responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate knows it's not their fault, but it's hard not to feel responsible.

After the chaos and adrenaline of the convoy, the empty mountain road seemed almost unnaturally silent. At least there was a clear path to follow. The trucks had carved deep furrows in the snow, leading towards the old monastery. Nate shoved his hands in his pockets as he hiked up the road, snow soaking through his socks. These shoes had _not_ been made for snow.

Elena walked along beside him, her shoulders hunched against the wind and her head bowed. She kept glancing back over her shoulder as they walked, and eventually Nate turned to look as well. “I don’t think anybody’s following us,” he said.

She glanced over at him and shook her head. “That’s not—I know,” she said with a sigh. “I’m just… worried.”

About the village. Nate sighed. “Yeah,” he said. The people in the village had defended themselves as best they could, but they'd been caught completely off-guard. Who the hell prepared for an invading force of mercenaries and tanks?

“There was no warning,” she said. “We tried to get people out of the way, but… They were just shooting at everyone.”

Nate winced. He’d seen the bodies, crumpled behind walls and in corners, but he’d tried not to look too hard. Because then he’d get angry, _really_ angry, and that kind of anger would just get him killed. And he couldn’t do anything to stop Lazarevic if he was dead. But Elena had been there when the attack had come. She’d seen those people become bodies. “Elena…”

“If we hadn’t been there--”

“No.” Nate stopped walking and turned towards her. “This is Lazarevic’s fault, okay? We didn’t bring a damn tank with us.”

Elena just shook her head. “He wouldn’t have brought it if not for us,” she said.

“You don’t know that,” Nate said. Elena just gave him a flat, incredulous look and began walking again. “Elena, listen.” He hurried after her, slipping a little in the snow. “Lazarevic had pictures from Schaefer’s expedition back in Borneo, okay? He knew about him already. He might have gone after the place either way.”

She didn’t respond for a few moments, just stared at the churned-up snow and dirt in front of them. “That doesn’t really make me feel any better,” she said.

Nate sighed and shook his head. “Me neither,” he said. “We’ll stop him, though. Rescue Schaefer, get the dagger back, stop Lazarevic.”

Elena snorted. “It sounds so easy when you put it like that.”

“Hey, maybe it will be,” he said. She chuckled wryly, shaking her head, and he smiled. “You never know!”

“I guess not,” Elena said.

They rounded a bend in the road, and found themselves facing an uphill hike towards the monastery gates. “C’mon,” Nate said. “We should cut down the cliffs, try to sneak past as much as we can.”

Elena nodded, following him to the cliff’s edge. “Okay,” she said. “Just be careful.”

“I always am," Nate replied and swung himself over the ledge.


	48. Nate/Elena, dignity and grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate's really quite coordinated. Not clumsy at all. Really. (Inspired by a jump that I miss every single time in Uncharted 2.)

"Just-- try and be subtle," Elena said in a half-whisper. "We don't want to attract any unnecessary attention."

"Subtle," Nate repeated, in a way that indicated he wasn't entirely familiar with the word. Elena managed to internalize a sigh. The gaps in his formal education showed up at the oddest times. "Right. Got it."

Nate paced backwards from the door, craning his neck to look up at the tower. Elena moved towards the wall, well out of his way as he circled the remains of the floor, looking around and muttering to himself. She couldn't see an obvious path up, but Nate had an uncanny ability to find ways of climbing damn near anything.

After a few moments he nodded to himself and walked over to the far corner, then swung himself off the side of the floor. Elena watched as he climbed up a pillar to the remains of the roof and carefully picked his way over to the edge. There were some old beams across from him, and Nate took a couple steps backward before launching himself off the roof towards them.

It wasn't a terribly far jump, and that was probably what did him in. Instead of grabbing it easily, though, Nate sailed almost cleanly _over_ it. His foot caught on the beam, and Elena clapped a hand to her mouth as Nate cartwheeled through the air, collided with the wall, and hit the floor mere feet from her.

"Are you okay!?" she asked through her fingers.

Nate groaned and slowly rolled onto his side. "Yeah," he said. "Just great."

Now that she knew he was fine, it was getting hard to keep from laughing. Elena bit her tongue as Nate hauled himself to his feet. He brushed himself off, shook his head to clear it, then looked up at her and sighed. "Don't," he said, starting past her to the corner again. "My pride's wounded enough as it is."

Elena took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm glad you're okay," she said, voice a little strangled around the laughter she was holding in.

Nate just blinked sadly at her before dropping off the side again. He made the climb again, but hesitated when he reached the roof. He frowned at the beam, then glanced at Elena for a split-second. "Would it help if I looked away?" Elena asked.

Nate glared. "It might," he replied, but jumped off the roof before she could cover her eyes. He almost missed again, this time hitting the beam with his torso and just barely managing to get his arms around it. He pulled himself up and got to his feet, arms extended to keep his balance. He looked down at Elena again; she grinned and mimed applause.

"Shut up," he muttered and picked his way across the beams. Elena chuckled to herself and moved back to watch as Nate scaled the side of the tower. Before long he'd swung across the beams at the top and disappeared from view.

The shooting started thirty seconds later.


	49. Nate, Elena & Chloe, Guardians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surviving against the Guardians of Shambhala is no easy thing.

Nate dodged around one of the pillars and winced as the blow meant for his head collided with the stone. The Guardian roared in frustration and pounded after him, even as Nate wildly fired the scavenged assault rifle over his shoulder. Elena and Chloe were somewhere behind the monster chasing him in circles around the small courtyard, firing their own guns with a little more accuracy. He just had to keep the Guardians from going after them. His fault they were in this mess; the least he could do was play bait.

The Guardian swung at him again, and this time he dove towards the ground, rolling out of the way and scrambling back to his feet. It hadn’t bought him a lot of space, but at least his skull hadn’t been caved in. He’d take his wins where he could get them.

His gun clicked empty, and Nate swore under his breath, fumbling at the ammo pouches on his holster even as he kept running. He only had one clip left. That wasn’t good. He managed to reload without dropping the gun or getting himself killed. The Guardian had slowed slightly, turning its attention towards Elena and Chloe, who were both still shooting at it. Not good. “Hey, asshole!” Nate shouted and opened fire when it turned.

To his surprise, after the Guardian bellowed at him, it didn’t charge—instead, it leapt up to one of the terraces overhead. Nate turned, tracking it through the rifle’s iron sights, and almost didn’t hear Elena’s shouted warning. “Nate, look out!”

He looked up to see her running towards him, pointing past his shoulder, and even as he started to turn around he heard the second Guardian charge. Nate barely had time to brace himself before it slammed into his chest shoulder-first, knocking the wind out of him and taking him off his feet for a few seconds before he hit the ground hard. He managed to keep a grip on his gun, but the thing was too close, pinning him down and roaring as it raised both fists over its head.

Before it could bring them down and crush Nate’s skull into a sticky paste, a handgun fired from somewhere close by, the bullets hitting the Guardian in the face and chest. It recoiled, raising its arms defensively, and Nate took his chance. He managed to twist one leg free and brought it up to kick the creature in the chest, then scrambled backwards. Elena was still shooting at the Guardian, and Chloe grabbed Nate’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

“You all right?” she asked—or at least, he thought that’s what she’d said. It was hard to hear over the ringing in his ears. He nodded and raised the gun again.

The Guardian roared and slammed both fists against the ground, then charged at Elena. She dove out of the way at what seemed like the last possible second; as soon as she was clear, Nate started shooting again. The Guardian turned its charge towards him, but it was clearly flagging, staggering across the stones and leaving deep purple blood spattered behind it. Nate kept firing, moving backwards with more and more urgency, until the creature finally fell to its knees and pitched forward a mere two feet in front of him.

Nate let out a sigh of relief. Before he could say anything, the other Guardian roared and jumped down to the courtyard, and Nate took off running again. Before long, his assault rifle clicked empty; without any other options, he flung the useless gun at the Guardian. It spun end-over-end and landed in the space between them, not even close to hitting his pursuer. “Of course,” Nate muttered, then bolted.

His loop around the courtyard took him past the first Guardian. Its crossbow was on the ground near its outstretched hand, and Nate slowed down enough to grab the weapon. He’d never used a crossbow before, but it didn’t seem all that hard. Like a bolt-action rifle. Right?

There was already a bolt loaded, and he turned around to line up the shot. The remaining Guardian had the same idea, and Nate twisted to avoid the first bolt. Not fast enough, though—the razor-sharp arrowhead sliced through his bicep and went clattering off somewhere behind him. Nate gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger, launching a bolt straight at the Guardian. It struck the creature square in the chest; the Guardian howled and clawed at the bolt, even as Elena and Chloe unloaded their pistols into it. With a final roar, it too collapsed, leaving the courtyard in empty silence.

“Holy shit,” Nate gasped and dropped the crossbow to the ground. His arm ached, to say nothing of the smaller cuts and bruises he’d picked up during their escape from Lazarevic. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and went to collect his rifle from the ground.

“I can’t believe you threw it at him,” Chloe said from the other side of the courtyard, where she was cautiously prodding one of the corpses.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Nate picked up the gun and hooked it to his holster, then wrapped his right hand around the gash on his arm.

Elena appeared at his side, looking about as shaken as he felt, and tapped his hand. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let me see.” She pried his fingers away and peered at his arm. “Well,” she finally said. “It could be worse. Looks like it’s mostly stopped bleeding, at least.”

Nate craned his neck to look at the cut. “Yeah.” Elena still had her hand on his arm, and he had to fight the sudden urge to cover her hand with his. Not now.

She glanced up at him and pulled her hand back abruptly, as if coming to the same realization, then turned away. "So, uh, where to n--"

Another bellowed roar cut her off mid-word, and Nate spun around as yet another Guardian appeared on one of the upper terraces. They'd lingered too long here. "You have to be kidding me," Nate sighed and grabbed the crossbow again, just as the Guardian started swinging some kind of chain around in its hand. He really, really didn't want to find out what that did.


	50. Nate/Elena, first morning again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first morning waking up together, after Yemen.

Elena woke to the heavy warmth of a down comforter and the feeling of fingers running through her hair. She blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room, then turned her head to look up at Nate.

He was staring at her with an expression she could only describe as wonder, like he couldn't quite believe she was real. When he saw she was awake, he smiled, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Mm. Morning.” Elena smiled back and reached up to rub her thumb against the back of his hand. This was the first morning they'd woken up together in... longer than she cared to recall. They used to spend mornings like this often enough, half-awake and cuddling, but that had stopped months before he'd actually walked out.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked.

Elena shook her head. “No, not really.”

“Good.”

She smiled at him again and caught his hand in hers, then turned to press a kiss to his fingers. She wanted to give him a proper kiss, but given the way her mouth tasted, that would turn really gross really quick.

Nate's smile faded, and he searched her face for a few moments with wide, serious eyes. Before she could ask what was wrong, he flung himself at her, his face buried in her shoulder as he hugged her tight. Elena let out a quiet sigh and shifted enough that she could hug him back. “You okay?”

He nodded, but didn't let go. Elena leaned her cheek against the side of his head. They might have gotten back together, but that didn't mean things were going to be easy now. Not when they had his guilt and her lingering anger to deal with, to say nothing of more concrete concerns like her contract in Yemen. Elena frowned and shook her head slightly. They could deal with all of that later. One day at a time, for now.

She rubbed her hand up and down Nate's back, wincing as her fingers found new scars and barely healed wounds. After a few moments, she dipped her head to press a kiss to his shoulder, then patted his back and started to pull away. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Nate whined and tightened his arms around her. “C'mon,” she said. “We need to get up.”

“You don't even know what time it is,” he mumbled into her neck.

“It's eight-thirty-two,” she replied.

Nate raised his head to peer at the clock behind her, and Elena grinned as his eyes widened. “That was spooky.”

“I have a great internal clock,” she said. “Also, your watch is on the other nightstand.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “Cheater.”

“Uh-huh.” Elena kissed the tip of his nose, then disentangled herself from his arms and sat up. Their clothes had ended up everywhere, more or less, and after a moment she grabbed Nate's discarded shirt from the floor. She pulled it on and snagged a clean pair of underwear from her bag on her way to the bathroom.

She studied her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands, then tugged the collar aside a bit and smirked. It had been a while since she'd woken up with this many love bites. At least Nate'd had the sense to keep them off her throat. Sully was going to be giving them enough knowing looks as it was.

Nate had managed to pull on his boxers and drag himself out of bed by the time she came back into the room. He rubbed the heel of his palm against one eye as he studied the coffee maker. “You want any?”

“Hmm... nah, I'll just wait until we get to the restaurant.”

He nodded, yawned, and headed for the bathroom. Elena dug a fresh set of clothes out of her bag, then stood there for a moment, holding them against her chest, before she dropped them onto the chair in the corner and flopped back onto the bed. She could blame jet lag, even though by that logic, she should have been awake hours ago.

She heard the bathroom door open, then Nate chuckled. “You were the one who said we had to get up.”

“I know.” The mattress shifted as Nate sat down, and Elena smiled when he started running his fingers through her hair again. “It's a very comfortable bed.”

“Yeah.”

She rolled onto her back and reached for Nate's shoulder, then pulled him down to her and gave him a gentle, lingering kiss. Nate braced one arm on the mattress beside her head, his breath warm against her lips as they traded kisses. This time, he was the one to pull back, albeit reluctantly. “We should get up,” he said. “I think we're supposed to meet Sully in about an hour. And we both need to shower.”

“Mm.” Elena ran her hand up and down his arm. “Y'know. It would probably save time if we showered together.”

He blinked, then grinned. “I like the way you think.”


	51. Nate/Elena, three year anniversary

Warmth and sunlight and the faint, familiar sound of Nate snoring greeted her as she woke. Elena smiled without opening her eyes, stretching as best she could with Nate's arm wrapped securely around her, and turned her face against the pillow. Too early. She didn't know what time it was, but she was certain it was too early.

Nate's snoring tapered off into inarticulate grumbling. “You awake?” he mumbled.

“No.”

She felt him chuckle more than heard it. Nate let out a quiet, contented sigh and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Happy anniversary.”

Elena smiled. “Happy anniversary to you, too,” she said, reaching back to blindly run her fingers through his hair. Nate nuzzled into her neck in response, his stubble prickling lightly against her skin.

Three years. Three years ago today they'd exchanged rings, said their vows, promised to spend the rest of their lives together. They'd had their problems and challenges, but by now, the good days-- the good _months_ \-- far outnumbered the bad. Nate had long since retired from treasure hunting, which had come as a relief to them both. She'd been surprised by the change in Nate, once he'd given it up. It was like he'd finally put down a weight neither of them knew he'd been carrying.

“No work today, right?” Nate asked.

She shook her head. “Nah. Taking the day off.” She'd made changes to her job, too, picking her stories with far more caution these days. Between the two of them, they'd had enough near-death scares. They didn't need any more.

She felt Nate smile against her skin. “Good,” he said and started trailing soft, sleepy kisses along her shoulder. “So we can stay right here all day.”

Elena chuckled. “In theory.”

“Mm.” Nate reached up to slide the strap of her tank top off her shoulder so it wouldn't interfere with his kisses. “And in practice?”

“In practice, we both have morning breath, and I want breakfast.”

Nate made a disappointed sound, his lips still pressed to her skin. “Morning sex, then breakfast?”

“Okay, but that doesn't fix the gross morning breath problem.” Elena slid her hands under his arm and started prying it off her. Nate whined and flopped over on his back, pouting at her when she sat up and disentangled herself from the sheets. She rolled her eyes at him. “I'll be right back,” she said, standing up.

“Okay,” Nate sighed. “Can you bring me water?”

“You're gonna have to get out of bed eventually, you know.”

Nate shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“You are so lazy,” Elena replied and shut the bathroom door behind her.

When she emerged a few minutes later with a glass of water in her hand, Nate had relocated to the middle of the bed, sprawled out with the sheets twisted around himself. “I was gone for two minutes,” Elena said, setting the glass down on his nightstand before climbing over him to her side of the bed.

Nate grunted as she none-too-gently pushed his limbs aside so she could lie down again. “Your side was warmer,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Elena elbowed him in the side. “Drink your water.”

He heaved a sigh and sat up, leaning over to grab the glass. Elena took advantage of his distraction to wriggle out of her shorts and toss them to the floor. Her shirt was next to go, and she pulled it off over her head as Nate set the empty glass down again. “What are you--” he began, looking back at her, then blinked. “Oh.”

Elena grinned and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down to her. Nate slid one arm around her waist as their lips met, and Elena tangled both hands in his hair. They eventually came up for air, and Elena's eyes fluttered open when Nate didn't immediately move to kiss her again. He was smiling down at her, his arm braced on the bed beside her head and his fingers idly toying with the ends of her hair. She gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged slightly. “Looking forward to the next three years.”

“Mm.” Elena smiled back. “I'm looking forward to the next thirty.”

Nate blinked at her, then nodded. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured and leaned down to kiss her again.


End file.
